


The Gathering Storm - A Continuing Tale

by VengefulDivine



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-03 00:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 67,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2831156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VengefulDivine/pseuds/VengefulDivine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These stories will follow the adventures of Faydren Trevelyan - from childhood to present. While I'm attempting to make it a somewhat comprehensive story, much is filled in by the game itself.<br/>Let the fun begin!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clouds Roll In

“Faydren! Faydren, come back here this instant!”

Servants moved to hug the walls as a little girl in expensive finery darted down the hallway, giggling uncontrollably. Her sparkling grey eyes and shockingly white hair identified her as the youngest member of the Trevelyan family. Those watching attempted to hide their smiles as the girl's mother huffed down the passage after her. Lady Trevelyan was the very picture of decorum under all circumstances, but seven-year-old Faydren could bring her closer to the edge than anything.

The youngster's progress was stopped abruptly as a strong, calloused hand reached from around the corner and snagged a handful of the dress back. Faydren looked over her shoulder to see who thwarted her escape. Face lighting up in a brilliant smile, she threw her arms around the legs of the tall dark-haired man. His face was scarred but kind, and his bright green eyes held a twinkle of mischief.

“Marcus! Don't you have anything better to do than ruin my fun?” Faydren clearly didn't mind though, as she was always thrilled to see him. He chuckled and ruffled her hair.

Faydren's mother finally caught up, clearly annoyed as she cleared her throat. Long black hair framing her face, the matriarch's dark eyes were humorless. “Thank you, Guard-Captain. How go preparations for the journey?”

Marcus clicked his heels and bowed smartly. Not an easy task with Faydren still glued to his legs. “Everything has been done to your exact specifications, my lady.”

“Excellent. Come now, Faydren.”

Lady Trevelyan reached down and snatched her daughter's wrist tightly before walking off at a brisk pace. Faydren winced at the vice-like grip as she was dragged off back to her room, but she turned enough for a farewell wave and grin at Marcus. There was a concerned look on his face but he quickly hid it behind a smile and a wink as he waved back.

***

The Trevelyans set out early the next day with a small accompaniment of guards and servants. They were visiting distant relatives for a wedding. The family started out all riding in the carriage, but it was crowded and uncomfortable. This eventually led to Lord Trevelyan succumbing to Faydren's constant requests to ride with Marcus on his horse. Everyone in the carriage was relieved to have the extra space and the lack of an energetic child.

Marcus looked positively heroic in full armor atop his white thoroughbred, Alterion, and was more than happy to accommodate the young mistress on the saddle in front of him. He was a single man whose focus was his career. Faydren was sweet and affectionate, and he treated her like his own daughter - which was more than he could say for her actual parents. They were too busy grooming their older children for noble life or the Chantry.

Faydren was thrilled to ride with Marcus. She loved horses and the feel of the wind as it whipped through her hair. Much of the ride passed quickly as she chatted with her favorite person. He wasn't like everyone else. They treated her like a child or a nuisance, but he listened carefully to everything she said and responded with real answers. The day grew later and she eventually fell asleep leaning back against his chest.

The sounds of shouting woke Faydren with a jolt. Night had fallen. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she was alarmed to see flames licking at the wheels of the carriage and arrows sticking out starkly from its sides. She froze in terror as she saw bodies on the ground with pools of blood steadily growing beneath them. Marcus' voice bellowed from behind her, so close she could feel the vibrations in his breastplate.

“Quickly, take the family on our fastest horses and get them out of here! The rest of you, we shall block any pursuit!”

He sidled Alterion next to another rider and lifted Faydren over to the young man. She was trembling in fear, her eyes wide. The soldier placed her firmly on the saddle in front of him and wrapped an arm securely around her.

“Keep her safe, no matter what,” Marcus placed a hand on Faydren's head and smiled reassuringly before turning back to order his men. Faydren kept fear-filled eyes locked on Marcus as the horse was turned, reaching her small hand out towards him. The horse was urged in the direction of the other escaping family members. It didn't get very far.

There was a shrill whistling noise and a thud. The soldier behind her gave a coughing sputter before sliding from the saddle, taking Faydren to the ground with him. She screamed - a piercing sound that echoed across the battlefield. The fall knocked the breath from her lungs and disoriented her. Without its rider, the steed whinnied in terror and took off after the others. Tears ran down her face as she got to her hands and knees, looking around in terror at the fighting that now surrounded her.

“Captain!”

“I see her!”

A strong arm wrapped around Faydren's waist from behind and lifted her up. She nearly screamed again, but turned her head to find the familiar armor and determined face of her guardian. There was blood, sweat, and ash dripping from his brow and coating his armor now. He pushed his way to the edge of the fighting, avoiding as much as he could. They reached the sheer wall of a cliffside before Marcus stumbled and dropped to his knees. Setting Faydren down gently, he gritted his teeth against the pain. Once she faced him, it was obvious what was wrong – there was an arrow protruding from his left shoulder.

Wide-eyed and pale, Faydren watched as men she didn't recognize began to block them in against the cliff. Many had vicious scars, and cruel grins lit their faces. Raindrops spattered the ground before turning into a steady pelt. Marcus staggered to his feet, sword in hand. She'd never seen his eyes so filled with rage.

“I won't let you touch her,” his voice held a dangerous edge.

There was some raucous laughter at that, but it was quickly silenced as Marcus lunged at the nearest bandit and impaled him. The battle was brutal, but short-lived. Faydren could only watch, frozen in fear. At the end, several men lay dead or bleeding but Marcus had not remained unscathed. He collapsed to the ground and the remaining bandits closed in, kicking at him as he lay defenseless. The most important person in her young life, and she was about to see him die because of her. _Marcus..._

Faydren's hands slowly balled into fists as she took one step towards them. Then another. The hair on her arms and neck stood on end, a strange hum of energy swirling in the air around her.

“St- stop it.”

They ignored her. She walked faster.

“Leave him alone!”

One of them looked up at her in annoyance that quickly turned to surprise and confusion. He nudged the others and soon they were all staring at the small girl - and for good reason. Her white hair floated eerily around her head as though moved by some strange force. Even more unnerving was her eyes – their bright grey was lined with a glowing purple that seemed to spark. The clouds above them flashed angrily as a low rumble echoed across the skies.

“Just kill him now and grab her,” came a voice from the back.

Looking at one another and shrugging, one of them raised his dagger and began to bring it down at Marcus' throat. An unholy shriek erupted from the child and bolts of lightning struck the men near her fallen friend. The electrified bandits convulsed on the ground before going still, wisps of smoke rising from them.

“Oh Maker, it's a mage! Just kill it now, there's no way we can risk capturing that!”

Faydren screamed again but there was no fear in it now, only fury. Marcus was her best friend - her only friend. If they had killed him... Electricity arced out from her very being, striking any assailants and leaping to the next until there was nothing left standing. Even some nearby trees had been struck and toppled flaming to the ground.

Once the threat was gone, the newborn mage dropped to her hands and knees. She had never felt so exhausted. It was all Faydren could do to keep her eyes open, but she had to make sure Marcus was alright. The ground was nothing but mud now as she crawled her way over to his side. Dark hair was matted with mud and blood against his ashen face. Faydren reached out a cold, trembling hand and touched his cheek.

“Marcus?”

There was no response. She felt the tears coming again as sobs wracked her small frame. Faydren threw herself onto his chest and hugged him tightly. He couldn't be gone... The storm had calmed, leaving the night sky peeking through vanishing clouds. Large raindrops continued to create small splashes on the soaked ground. Faydren was chilled to the bone and covered in streaks of blood and ash. Some nasty injuries from the fall were making themselves known as well, but none of it mattered. Maybe she could just die there too.

Suddenly, there was a grunt of pain.

“Try not to hug so tightly, little one.”

Raising her head, she saw Marcus smiling painfully at her. Faydren's face lit up with a smile as bright as the sun. One might have thought nothing had ever been wrong. She quickly let go and moved to sit by his head instead, picking it up out of the mud and resting it gently on her legs.

“I knew you wouldn't leave me, Marcus.”

“Never, young mistress.”

The sound of horses hooves and clanking armor grew close. Everything would be alright now. Everything would be just fine...

***

Faydren could hear them shouting through the study door. She shifted uncomfortably on the chair outside. Things had been odd since they got back. Everyone was looking at her strangely now and would quickly leave the room once she entered. There were always whispers surrounding her.

Marcus had been slow recovering from his wounds. He still treated her the same at least, and she had stayed glued to his side. He was in the study now talking to Lord and Lady Trevelyan, along with a strange man in armor that she'd never seen. She saw them enter and decided to wait for Marcus outside.

“You know how this works. Once someone shows signs, they're sent to the Circle.”

“But you have no proof she's a mage!”

“How else do you explain that night? You two survived when lightning came from heaven and struck down everyone but you? They heard her screams. They saw the lightning!”

“How can you be so willing to send her away? She's your child, dammit!”

“That's right- she's our child not yours, Guard-Captain! You would do well to remember that.”

“I know she's important to you, Marcus... But I have to take her. You understand, don't you?”

“Yes, of course. I just... I promised never to leave her.”

“I'm sorry, old friend...”

The door opened and Faydren stood up, looking at the adults with a sad resignation in her eyes. This was what the whispers said would happen. They were sending her away... and this time Marcus wouldn't be coming with her.

“It's okay, Marcus. I'll be fine, you'll see!” Faydren forced out a smile.

Marcus froze in the door when he saw her standing there with that look in her eyes. It broke his heart. And when she tried to reassure him... He dropped to his knees and pulled her into his arms, tears streaming down his face.

“I know you will, my brave little warrior,” he looked up at the Templar. “Take good care of her. Promise me?”

The Templar nodded solemnly and gently reached out his hand to the young girl. Faydren placed a tentative hand into his large, gloved palm. Then they left. She looked over her shoulder once to see Marcus still kneeling in the hall, face buried in his hands. Her parents stood aloofly behind him.


	2. Distant Rumbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faydren Trevelyan lived at the Circle happily from age 7 to age 22, making friends and growing up along the way. But nothing lasts forever.

*******   
**Age 7**   
*******

Faydren stuck close to the Templar as they walked through the austere halls of the Ostwick Circle. The building had been intimidating from the outside, shining and smooth with dark spires jutting toward the sky like elongated fingers. Inside it was simple but suffocating. The air felt thick and tense.

It was impressive that her guide was able to walk at all with her practically attached to his leg. Her right hand gripped the folds of his 'skirt' tightly as they entered a great circular hall with massive elaborate double doors gracing its end. The floor was tiered and held benches beyond her willingness to count. They came to a stop just outside the doors. Her escort turned to her and smiled reassuringly as he gestured to a nearby bench. Faydren loosened her grip a tad but didn't quite let go.

“I'll just be a few moments. I need to let them know you're here.”

The door opened, revealing a young man not yet in his teens with shaggy brown hair and deep hazel eyes. He shifted uncomfortably in armor that was clearly too big for him. It seemed to be purely ceremonial.

“Ah, Darius!” The older Templar seemed relieved.

“Ser?” The boy blinked uncertainly.

“This is one of our newest charges. Would you keep her company while I speak to the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter?”

“Um...”

“Good lad,” the man clapped Darius on the shoulder and moved past him into the room, shutting the door behind him.

Darius looked down curiously at the child who had been so readily thrust upon him. It was true that Ser Rialto did not fare well with the younger mages at the Circle, but this girl seemed to be well-behaved enough.  
On second glance, her appearance could be considered a mite unsettling. Premature white hair wasn't unheard of, but it remained unusual and some might even say unnatural. Hers actually seemed to have a life of its own as small wisps of it swayed back and forth in some unseen breeze. Her eyes were a piercing steely gray, and if he looked closely they seemed tinged with a purple glow.

Darius snapped out of his reverie to realize he'd just been standing there staring. Thankfully she seemed content enough to stare right back. Trying to stand up straight in his armor, he cleared his throat.

“So, what's your name?”

“I'm Faydren. Your name is Darius?”

“That's right,” he shifted uncomfortably. This was only his second day here. He wasn't even really supposed to be alone around mages without his training. She was just a little girl, but he'd heard stories...

He blinked in surprise as Faydren suddenly gave him a brilliant smile. The room itself almost appeared to brighten, and he felt his discomfort melt away. Darius couldn't help feeling that he wanted that smile to stay there forever.

“You're new like me, right?”

“I- yes. How did you know?”

“Because you seem worried too,” her smile faltered a bit.

“I do, huh? Well perhaps we should do something to take our minds off of it. Do you know any games?” Darius grinned back at her as she brightened once more.

“Oh yes! I have the perfect one,” she grabbed his hand and he felt a tiny shock but it quickly faded. Time to learn a new game it seemed.

When Ser Rialto finally emerged, he was accompanied by the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander since their business was done as well. The three older men were struck speechless at the sight of their newest young mage and Templar playing some strange childish game involving a sing-song chant, spinning in circles, and then falling to the ground. This was no small feat for Darius in his armor, but he didn't seem to mind. The two children laughed and frolicked, but their time together was now done.

“Darius,” Knight-Commander Argus spoke sternly.

“Knight-Commander,” Darius scrambled to his feet and stood at attention.

“Say farewell to the young lady. Your training begins tomorrow.”

“Yes, Ser,” he turned to Faydren and bowed slightly, laughter now gone. “Goodbye, Faydren.”

The mage's face fell and she looked around, confused. The First Enchanter and Ser Rialto gave her pitying looks.

“Did I get him in trouble? I'm sorry. Please don't be mad at him,” she appeared ready to cry.

“No, child. He's not in trouble,” the First Enchanter soothed, gaining a look from Argus. “Young Templar recruits simply have their training somewhere else. So you won't be seeing him again for a while.”

“Oh... That's alright then,” Faydren nodded sadly before turning to Darius and throwing her arms around him. Argus and Rialto flinched, hands moving to their hilts.

“Goodbye, Darius. Thanks for being my friend.”

“I- uh-” Darius stammered, looking to his superiors. They remained stoic. Looking back to the little girl whose face was pressed against his breastplate, he lowered his arms around her shoulders.

“You're welcome. Make sure to be good while I'm gone.”

He felt her nod repeatedly before she released him and stepped back toward Ser Rialto. As he was being led away by Argus, Darius sneaked one last glance back. Faydren was watching him go, small hand waving a silent farewell.

  
***  
 **8 years later - Age 15  
** ***

Faydren peeked around the corner of the hallway, a cheeky grin on her face. She flapped her hand at the snickering apprentices hugging the wall behind her as they waited. The new Templars arrived today. Every few months, Templars who had finished their training were brought to the Circle to begin their main duties. Now fifteen, Faydren had started a tradition of welcoming them… sort of. Her version of ‘welcome’ usually involved a prank of some kind.

It wasn’t difficult to find willing volunteers among the other young mages. It broke the monotony and brightened their days with a spot of harmless fun. Even the targets of the pranks often found it entertaining. It also made them less nervous around Templars, which made everyone’s life less stressful in the end. Faydren had never been afraid of their armored guardians, but it was clear she was an oddity in that respect. The sound of armor shifting against itself made its way to her ears as two young Templars entered into the hallway.

“Oh, I see some!” she whispered to her followers. They giggled excitedly before falling silent.

One of the Templars was tall and blonde, with wide blue eyes that flicked around nervously. The other was broad-shouldered with unkempt dark brown hair and keen hazel eyes. He seemed much more at ease than his companion and wore his armor easily. Faydren paused, blinking a few times before a huge smile slowly grew on her lips. Without explanation, she vanished into a hazy blue streak that shot down the hall at the Templars. Her companions’ jaws dropped – this wasn’t the plan. They stayed by the corner, peeking around to see what she was up to.

“You mean it doesn’t make you the slightest bit nervous to be surrounded by people that could roast you alive inside your armor?” Rexas was a worry wart. He had been all through training and didn’t seem to be changing anytime soon.

“No,” Darius sighed. “They’re still just people, Rex.”

The conversation was interrupted as an ethereal blue haze hurtled toward them down the hallway. Rexas immediately reached for his blade, but Darius recognized that it wasn’t a hostile spell. A good thing too, since he didn’t have much time to react before something slammed into his chest and nearly bowled him over – or rather, some _one_.

“Darius!” The voice was filled with pure joy and excitement.

He looked down in bewilderment, realizing there were arms wrapped tightly around him. His gaze was greeted by a shock of white hair, but quickly replaced with sparking grey eyes and an infectious smile as his captor beamed up at him.

“Faydren?”

“You do remember!” Her smile somehow got even brighter.

Darius gave his companion a reproachful glance as he noticed the partially-drawn sword. Rexas had the good grace to look sheepish as he sheathed it. That boy needed to calm his nerves… things could have gone badly. Faydren didn’t seem to have plans to let go, so Darius gently untangled himself.

“Of course I do. You were my first charge, remember?”

“I don’t think it was quite as official as all that,” she laughed.

“Perhaps not,” he smiled back. He’d forgotten how easily she put him at ease. It was surprising to him, since now he knew how her power manifested. And how many she’d killed with it.

“Who’s your friend?” She looked at the tall blonde man expectantly.

“Oh, this is Ser Rexas. We trained together.”

“Milady,” Rexas bowed slightly at the waist.

“Oh, don’t be so formal,” Faydren chided before turning and giving him a hug as well.

Darius had to stifle a chuckle as Rex looked at him in shock, his eyes clearly saying ‘ _Help me_ ’. A mage attack of affection – he never stood a chance. Looking down the hall, Darius noticed curious eyes peeking around the next corner. He smirked and gave them a small wave. There was an audible squeak and the sound of pattering feet as the eyes disappeared. Then it really was just Faydren who didn’t mind Templars.

He watched in silent amusement as Faydren peppered Rex with various questions and the big blonde Templar stammered out replies. Still just as innocent and unusual as he remembered… It made him glad to see that the Circle hadn’t changed that.

***  
 **4 years later** **\- Age 19**  
***

Darius watched protectively from his post as Faydren chatted with a group of male mages. Templars weren’t supposed to form attachments, but he saw that girl as family. She’d claimed that piece of his heart long ago. It was strange to see her grow into a woman, and the throng around her now made it evident he wasn’t the only one to notice just how attractive she’d become.

Faydren kept her white hair short since the ever-present static did a number on anything longer. The instructors never could get that aura of sympathetic magic to dispel for good. Her skin was a dark olive tone, complementing her hair color flawlessly. The eyes though – they drew people in, daring you to look deeper and catch the lightning sparking in the steel.

Faydren’s figure was certainly appealing as well. He didn’t know how, considering how much he’d seen her eat – especially if there was cake. She could probably have just about anyone in the Circle that she wanted. Darius shook his head and smirked. Too bad for the poor saps, she didn’t seem to be interested in romance of any sort. Not that it was allowed, of course, but everyone knew it happened.

He watched as Faydren broke off from her admirers and sauntered over to him. She smiled happily. Ah yes, he hadn’t included the smile on his list… It brightened any room she was in and could warm a heart of ice – he’d seen it happen. Even the Knight-Commander smiled back on occasion.

“Hard at work I see,” she quipped. She gave him no small amount of grief for the fact that his job mostly consisted of standing and watching.

“Always,” he kept a straight face. “You do make things more difficult though.”

“Oh? Howso?”

“Now I’ll have to stand guard at your room all night to make sure no boys try to sneak in,” he cracked a smile after that one, and she laughed appreciatively.

“Well at least you’ll be making yourself useful!”

She reached up to ruffle his hair with affection and walked out of the room. He fixed his hair and shook his head, chuckling to himself. It entertained him to no end that she thought he was _joking_ about that.

***  
 **After Kirkwall** \- **Age 20**  
***

Things had only grown more tense over the years. With good friends among both mages and Templars, it pained Faydren to see them so distrustful of each other. Worse, both sides had been given just cause to be suspicious. Rogue Templars taking decisions into their own hands, desperate mages turning to blood magic and possession – these things were happening in Circles all over Thedas. Ostwick had thankfully avoided such tragedies within its own walls, but all minds were on the knowledge that it _could_.

And so Faydren’s singular goal, wherever she went and whatever she was doing, was to lighten spirits. Pranks, jokes, kind words, comfort, affection – whatever was needed for the moment, she would gladly give. It worked for a time, but after Kirkwall’s Circle fell only her closest friends would forgive her association with both sides. Remaining neutral cast her out… and it was lonely. She found herself spending less time with people and instead would sit quietly on the tower balcony, playing Archon against herself or reading.

Darius stood by Faydren’s desire to keep peace in the Circle, and did what he could to sway the other Templars’ opinions. There were some who still believed their sole duty was protector and guardian. Any who considered Faydren a friend couldn’t accept any other way of thinking. That number was not small, however it was still vastly outnumbered.

He saw how hard she was trying, and it hurt to watch as she slowly became an outcast from the majority. It was obvious to all when she started spending less and less time in the public areas. Everything seemed darker, rooms felt colder, and the air was heavy. The ones who drove her away refused to acknowledge the change, but you could see it in their faces. Things were getting worse.

This time, Darius sought Faydren out on the balcony. She didn’t notice him enter, her eyes distant as she gazed out from the tower. His brow furrowed in concern as he looked at her more closely. She looked so tired and fragile… Pale and flushed, her eyes were dulled and she’d gotten skinnier.

Darius moved to the chair across from her and sat down quietly. His presence startled her out of the reverie and her gaze moved to his face. After a moment she smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes like it used to. He smiled back gently.

“Who’s winning?” His hand gestured to the board set up between them, clearly in mid-game.

“Oh. It’s a close match really, but I’m going to take a risk here and say… me.”

“A daring move. But perhaps you’d like to try your skills with me instead? It’s been a long time since we played. I swear I’ve gotten better.”

“I- yes. A real match would be nice,” Faydren looked at him with gratitude and began resetting the board. Darius reached out and placed his hand on her head. She paused but didn’t say or do anything. A ragged sigh escaped her.

“It’s going to be okay.”

“No, I’m pretty sure you’re going to lose.”

He laughed at that and leaned back in his chair as they began their match. She did seem happier though. For now at least.

***  
 **Circle of Magi disbanded - Age 22**  
***

Faydren woke abruptly to someone shaking her. She smelled smoke and burning and heard the sounds of battle nearby. For a moment, she was seven again when her family’s carriage was under attack and panic gripped her heart. The air around her began crackling with energy.

“Faydren, it’s me!”

Her mind cleared and she realized Darius was the one shaking her. Something was wrong. His voice was strained, his armor was scorched and stained with blood, and his sword was drawn. Looking to the door, she saw some of her other Templar friends standing guard with a few of the mages that remained close allies. All showed signs of fighting and minor injuries.

“The White Spire has fallen. The Circles are disbanded. Everything has fallen into chaos!”

The words struck her like a blow. This couldn’t be happening. The Circle was her life, her family – Templars _and_ mages. They couldn’t really be fighting each other like this, right? Tears slid down her cheeks as she acknowledged the world she loved crumbling away. She swallowed hard before meeting Darius’ eyes.

“What do we do?”

“We get out. None of us want this fight. The main doors are blockaded, but I know a side passage that’s only meant to be used by Templars for emergencies. I’d say this counts,” he spoke with confidence and authority. It gave Faydren some comfort.  
“Alright. Lead the way,” she gathered what few things she needed and dressed while they turned away.

“We may have to fight to get there,” he looked at her apologetically.

“I’ll do what I have to. If they have any sense left, they’ll let us pass unchallenged.”

Darius was surprised by how quickly she was able to quash her feelings. Standing close to her, one could feel the raw electrical power waiting to be released. Her eyes were hard, their purple glow growing even more pronounced.

Some mages and Templars they passed saw the group and chose not to engage. Even their beliefs and rage were given pause by the memories they shared of Faydren and Darius. However, the fighting did come. Their group’s Templars focused on fighting Templars and the mages focused on their own as well, all trying to finish with nonlethal blows. It didn’t always work, and they received more injuries as a result, but they refused to fight any other way. Thankfully, Ann was a healer and kept them going.

They reached the first floor without anything too severe happening, but the situation there was dire. Bodies littered the floor and Darius could see Faydren visibly pale, hands clenched at her sides as she kept her gaze straight forward. There was a nasty burn on her left shoulder and multiple lacerations on her torso from Templars who got through. The healing was enough to stop the bleeding, but there would definitely be scars. He cringed at the thought as he looked at her face – a cruel gash cut under both eyes and across the bridge of her nose. Someone clearly intended to take her head off with the swing. That was a scar she would be unable to disguise.

Turning the corner into the west wing main hall, Rexas cursed loudly. In the center of the room stood something all of them had prayed not to encounter. Its form was monstrous –skin stretched and torn as the body bulged unnaturally, arms and fingers long and skeletal.

“What is that?” Faydren breathed.

“Abomination…” Darius grit his teeth.

It hissed at them angrily and launched a fireball from its hand. The Templars moved in front of the mages and raised their shields. The fire deflected down into the floor from the shield of one of the younger recruits, Veran.

“Rexas, Rialto – engage in melee. The rest of you with me, shields up. Mages, wait for openings and light that thing up,” the orders came easily, even though Darius was far from the most senior member of their group. The others responded without question.

As Rex moved past a spot on the tiled floor, it began to glow orange and bubble before erupting into a molten figure with glowing golden eyes. The Templar raised his shield but to no avail as a large searing arm swung out, slamming into the shield and sending him tumbling across the floor.

“Rex!” Ann screamed, rushing past the shield wall in an attempt to reach him.

“Ann, don’t! That’s a Rage demon!” Darius called out to her.

Rialto was doing his best holding off the abomination, but it was a difficult task alone. The mages were no longer sure what to target and simply stood dumbfounded as the Rage demon began to slide toward its new target. Ann was kneeling by Rex, trying desperately to wake him up as the demon rose up behind her.

“No!” Faydren pushed to the front and slammed her staff blade into the ground. A rush of cold air whipped across the room, reaching the demon and freezing it solid mid-swing.

“Darius!” she shouted.

“Right!” he didn’t need her to tell him the plan. “Mages, focus on the abomination!”

He could hear them begin to follow his order as he charged across the room, shield raised. He approached the frozen demon, but didn’t slow. The ice was beginning to crack, it needed to happen now. With a final lunge, Darius smashed his shield into the creature and it shattered. It shrieked once before melting away to nothing. He stood panting and watched in relief as the abomination was brought down as well.

“I can’t get him to wake up,” a small voice came from beside him. Looking down at Ann, her eyes were wide and filled with tears. Rexas lay unmoving in her arms.

“I never even told him that I loved him,” her voice broke and she began sobbing uncontrollably. Faydren knelt next to the smaller girl and wrapped her in an embrace. Her own tears fell silently, creating trails through the blood and grime on her face. The whole group stood in silence for a time.

“Come. We’re almost there.”

They entered the west wing library, battered and exhausted but relieved at the thought of getting out. Their salvation was close at hand. Darius released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, striding quickly toward the panel that held the exit door.

“It seems I was right that someone would betray our oath and attempt to help mages escape through this door,” a voice rang out through the room as several Templars emerged from behind the shelves lining the room.

“Seranus? What are you doing here?” Darius’ mouth hung open in shock. All of these Templars just waiting… they didn’t appear to have done any fighting at all.

“I am doing my duty, traitor - preventing the escape of dangerous mages.” On closer inspection, all of these men were recent transfers from other Circles. No wonder.

“You’re just waiting here to ambush anyone wanting to avoid the slaughter?! You should be out there! Fighting demons and abominations! True threats!”

“All mages are a threat. You know this. If even one escaped, they could wreak havoc on the countryside and innocent people.”

Darius could barely contain his rage. These were the type of Templars that had caused this whole thing to happen. Bigots and hypocrites. They didn’t deserve the symbol they wore. As they spoke, Darius had nudged his group to move in the direction of the panel, putting their backs to it.

“You don’t deserve to call yourself a Templar… None of you do!” Darius snarled and dropped to a shield stance. His group followed suit, the true Templars creating an outer shell for the mages preparing their spells. Even Ann had recovered enough to ready her staff.

“You’re a fool, boy.”

Seranus ordered the charge. The first wave broke like water against a dam as the shield wall held and spells lanced through the attackers. The second wave fared little better. Then a third. Darius focused on nothing more than doing his part to keep the charges at bay. He could feel the electricity in the air surrounding them and knowing its source gave him strength. To his surprise, lightning occasionally jumped from his shield and armor to strike nearby foes.

“You’re all incompetent! The lot of you!” Seranus roared and lifted his large maul. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Rather than attack the front, Seranus charged one of the weak spots on the side. The shield wall faltered, and the fight descended into chaos. It didn’t take long for their smaller, exhausted group to be overwhelmed.

“Look out!”

Sword locked with an enemy, Darius turned his head to see Faydren’s staff barely turning aside a blade clearly meant for him. A large armored boot kicked her in the gut and her knees buckled. Horror filled him as he saw the shield smash into the side of her head. She crumpled to the ground.

“Faydren!” The panic in his voice was audible, and drew the attention of his remaining allies. They quickly began to close ranks on their fallen friend.

With a roar, Darius broke the sword-lock and killed his opponent before turning to impale the man who’d attacked Faydren. Lifting her into his arms, he weaved his way towards the exit while the others cleared a path. He reached the door and Veran had managed to open it, waving them through.

Looking over his shoulder, Darius knew… Those who remained standing would not be able to hold the pursuers back long enough for an escape. He locked eyes with Veran and handed Faydren off to him. The recruit was surprised, but seemed to understand the situation.

“Get her to safety. Don’t let them have her,” his voice caught a bit.

“You have my word, Darius. It’s- it’s been an honor,” Veran choked out.

Remembering something, Darius reached into a pouch at his waist and pulled out a small wrapped package. He stuffed it into Veran’s hand.

“Give this to her for me.”

With that, he ushered Veran into the tunnel and slammed the door shut before breaking off the handle. Darius’ face was grim and determined as he turned back to the fight. Nobody was getting through that door.

***

Faydren’s eyes blinked open but she quickly closed them again as her head pounded viciously. From the quick glimpse she got, it seemed she was lying in a hastily-made camp. Warmth emanated from a small fire next to her and it felt nice.

What didn’t feel nice was her body. Any of it. Her face felt like it had been used as a training dummy, her shoulder was on fire, it hurt to breathe, and all her cuts were itching something fierce. Her mind was slowly piecing things back together when her eyes popped open. She ignored the pain and scrambled to her feet, hobbling around the camp in search of people. It didn’t take long to realize nobody was there. The world spun and she leaned heavily against a tree.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” a relieved voice spoke behind her.

Turning, she was thrilled to see Veran. He was carrying firewood and a dead fennec, though he should probably be resting himself. Walking with a limp and favoring one arm, his condition couldn’t be much better than hers.

“Veran! I’m glad you made it. Where are the others? Ann? Rialto?” Her heart began to sink as he refused to meet her eyes. She could barely speak the last name. “…Darius?”

The young man set down the supplies and picked something out of his equipment. Limping over to her, he placed the small package in her hand. The name _Faydren_ was written hastily on the wrapping. She opened it slowly, barely able to breathe. Inside was Darius’ Templar pendant and a note.  
  
 _Be safe, little sister. I love you. Never forget that._

_Yours Forever,  
                                                      Darius_

Her legs gave out, but Veran was ready and caught her before she fell. He lowered them both slowly until their knees touched the ground and he was certain she wouldn’t fall. Faydren was shaking uncontrollably, eyes wide and vacant as she brought the pendant up to her lips. The young Templar couldn’t bear to stay for what came next and walked out a short distance from the camp. It’s unlikely anywhere would have been far enough.

Faydren’s anguished cries pierced the night, echoing through plains and forest as great rumbling clouds rolled in to block out the sky. The wildlife responded in kind, for even they could recognize the sound of the truly heartbroken.

*******

Angry. Bitter. Cold. These were words Veran would never have thought could apply to the warm and caring young mage he'd been introduced to four years ago. She'd had a smile for everyone – and a hug if you weren't careful. Now as he watched his traveling companion, it was impossible to tell if any of that girl remained.

The scar across her face was prominent, but healing nicely. The rest of her external wounds were all but recovered. There were no smiles, however. Her jaw remained tight, and there was a darkness lurking in her eyes... Darkness filled with a hatred for the world that took her brother away. Veran knew they weren't true siblings, but he'd seen the way they were together and he read the note. Blood or no, the two had been family.

It was days after she read that message before she was coherent or willing enough to plan out their next move. During that time, she didn't eat and barely slept. Veran had begun to worry that he'd fail his promise to Darius after the fact. She pulled it together in the end somehow, though the result was someone he didn't recognize.

Faydren remained polite and amiable enough, but she kept him at arms-length. This turned out to be somewhat literal as well since he got a slight shock anytime he touched her. She appeared downright hostile among strangers though and avoided interaction as much as possible.

They stumbled across a town early on, allowing them to find Faydren some clothes that were less conspicuous than a mage's robes. Stories of apostates roaming the countryside were already beginning to spread and so her staff was left behind as well, albeit reluctantly. Veran wore his Templar garb when they needed extra credibility, but otherwise stuck to something more casual.

Neither could think of any place to go, so they simply wandered from place to place picking up news and doing odd jobs. This was how they heard about the Conclave. A chance for peace between mages and Templars seemed almost too much to hope for. But if the two of them could live it on a daily basis, wasn't it at least possible? With her current outlook, Veran wasn't sure Faydren would be interested in attending. It surprised him when she was the one to bring it up.

“Do you think it could work? The Conclave, I mean.”

“I think there's a chance, yes. You and I are proof enough of that,” Veran spoke cautiously.

“I suppose that's true... Perhaps we should go then,” Faydren kept her eyes down, focused on the pendant resting in her palm.

“Would you like to?” He saw her pause.

“I think he would want to...”

“You're right, he would. Let's do it,” he nodded slowly before standing up and beginning to pack for the journey.

Little did the two know, the world itself was about to be changed forever...


	3. When It Rains...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things just took a turn for the worse. Regardless of personal feelings, everyone involved will have to work together to get out of this mess. First impressions abound - only time will tell if they are accurate.

Everything was dark. Her head ached and she felt cold all over. But her left hand... it was burning. A sensation like liquid fire seared through flesh and bone and snaked its way up her arm. Finally it erupted into an explosion of pain and Faydren screamed, waking herself up. Electricity leaped from her to the metal bars of her cell and the ceiling grate, illuminating the semi-darkness. It quickly dissipated, but the crackling energy filling the cell around her remained.

What happened? Where was Veran? And how did she get here? Faydren looked down at the chains on her wrists with disgust. The Templars must have ambushed the mages at the Conclave and taken them captive... But why didn't she remember? Then she realized – these shackles weren't blocking her magic. Meaning they didn't know she was a mage.

A couple of guards ran over to check on her and see about the flash of light. One of them touched a bar on the cell door and cried out as his arm went numb from the resulting shock. Faydren slowly raised her head to look at them and they both instinctively took a step back. They could feel the waves of energy swirling around her and now saw the small arcs of electricity jumping between the bars. Her eyes held a dangerous purple glow as she watched them unflinchingly. They froze like scared rabbits being eyed by a predator. The moment was broken as Faydren's left hand suddenly crackled with green energy, causing her to gasp and double over in pain.

“She's a mage. Tell the Seeker.”

This time the pain grew until it overwhelmed her and the world went black once more.

***

Cassandra's fist slammed into the table. She was growing impatient. The Breach continued to expand, and their one suspect was conveniently unconscious. According to the guards, the prisoner had woken up once. During that short time, she'd managed to numb one of their arms completely for the next few hours. Cassandra had wasted no time in ordering for mage shackles to be applied.

“Seeker,” a young man entered the room and saluted, “She's awake again. Whatever that apostate did seemed to have stabilized the mark somewhat.”

The dark-haired warrior pushed off from the table and strode through the door immediately. Leliana slid away from the wall to walk beside her, clearly anticipating her intent to waste no time.

“We must tread carefully, Cassandra. We do not yet know the best way to gain information from this person.”

“I will gain it by whatever means necessary. Now is not the time for dallying and mind games,” the Seeker's voice was hard and determined.

She slammed open the door to the cell used for interrogation. The prisoner knelt in the center, mage shackles firmly in place while four swords remained pointed at her head. The mage looked up and locked gazes with Cassandra. What the Seeker saw in those eyes did not inspire confidence. They were dark and angry. They did not hold any of the fear one might expect to find in someone who was innocent. Cassandra was more convinced than ever that this girl was responsible for the events at the Temple – and it filled her with rage.

When her questions were met with silence -or at most claims of memory loss- the warrior was nearly to the breaking point. The biggest reaction Cassandra got was when she mentioned that everyone at the Temple had died. For a moment Faydren paled and her eyes went wide, but the stoic mask quickly returned. The Seeker would have been more than willing to execute the mage right there were it not for Leliana cautiously reminding that the mark was needed.

Finally, it was decided that the only way to resolve the situation was to attempt their plan. Cassandra reluctantly removed Faydren's shackles and pulled her to her feet. The prisoner seemed wary but did not resist. That was to her credit at least.

“Meet us at the forward camp, Leliana. I will bring her.”

***

Varric pulled the trigger, sending another bolt tearing through the Shade making its way toward him. This time it was enough to send the thing screeching back to the hole it crawled out of – or in this case, rift. He used a sleeve to brush at the sweat coating his forehead before quickly reloading Bianca. It was cold as ass in these mountains, but fighting demons was certainly one way to get the blood pumping. This wasn't his first time against the blasted Fade creatures, but that didn't do much to improve the experience. Engaging them right next to the oozing crystalline structure that they insisted on popping out of didn't seem like the best plan to him either. But the soldiers were still here. So was Chuckles. And despite his best judgment, Varric couldn't leave them there to fight alone. So there he was. Dwarf with a crossbow, picking off demons and trying to avoid getting his head ripped off.

The first bolt of lightning startled the rogue, striking the demon about to swipe at him and turning it to ash. The lightning jumped from that one to two others nearby, causing them to shriek and look for the source. Varric turned to look as well, feeling no small amount of relief at seeing the Seeker charge in with her shield (though he would never tell her that). What surprised him was the other woman. It was clearly the survivor from the Conclave, yet Cassandra was actually allowing her to fight and carry a staff. They must have run into trouble of their own on the way up. Varric couldn't say he minded the help. Lightning continued to rain down on the battlefield, occasionally interrupted by a flurry of icy missiles. The last demon finally fell.

“Quickly, you must close the rift before more come through!”

Solas reached out for the marked arm. He pulled his hand back as the static shocked him. Faydren looked surprised and apologetic. The elf tried again, this time succeeding and pushing her hand toward the rift. A beam of green light shot forth, eliciting an intense reaction from both mark and rift. Varric watched Faydren's face fill with pain and took a step forward. Cassandra put an arm out to block him. After a few moments the crystal shattered and vanished from existence, leaving nothing but a pool of green ooze that faded away as well. Faydren pulled her arm away and clutched it tightly. They stood in silence, allowing her time for the pain to pass before she turned to look at them warily.

Introductions were made and Varric had to convince the Seeker to let him and Chuckles come along. He couldn't picture those two making it to the forward camp alone anymore, especially with Faydren already looking worn out. She was trying extremely hard not to show it though, which deserved some respect.

So far the mage was proving to be a walking contradiction. She appeared angry and reluctant, yet was clearly trying her best to help. Varric allowed himself a chuckle. This should be interesting.

***

Cullen raised his shield quickly, blocking the hissing green projectiles hurtling towards him. He grit his teeth and pressed forward, getting in range to slash at one of the wraiths. His hit connected and the thing froze in place before whiffing into nothing but a green mist.

The Commander turned to see his men fighting valiantly against creatures they were never trained for. It wasn't pretty. That blasted rift had opened right on top of them, but they needed to hold this path for Cassandra to get through. They only had one shot at this. Seeing one soldier about to be overwhelmed, he ran to assist.

There was hissing in the air before a large _KRAK_. Cullen recognized the sound of a magical attack and his Templar training was still sharp as he dove to the side out of reflex. He was not the intended target however, and electricity arced through the demons plaguing his men. Eyes narrowed in suspicion, Cullen turned his head to the stairs. It was _her_.

The mage prisoner stood on the landing, hands and staff raised to the sky as her short white hair floated eerily in the aura of static. Her light grey irises were outlined with an electrical hue that seemed alive. Her gaze was focused and intense as she continued to cast. For a brief moment, Cullen couldn't look away.

“Commander!” Cassandra greeted him as she ran down the stairs before charging into the fray.

Cullen returned to the fight as well, but his mind was uneasy. He trusted the Seeker's judgment and she was more than capable of handling any mage. But with all the chaos and confusion these demons were causing, it would be too easy for the prisoner to attack unnoticed or slip away into the mountains... He'd heard how she electrocuted one of the guards unprovoked. This woman was not to be trusted.

The rift crackled and groaned angrily, beams of light shooting out from it.

“Another wave! Prepare yourselves!”

Cullen barely finished speaking before he was knocked to the ground. An exceptionally tall and lanky skeletal demon stood over him, long claws outstretched. He had never seen a Terror demon in person, but this matched the description. A piercing noise came from its throat and the ground under him pulsed a hazy green. It was charging an attack. Cullen struggled to regain his footing, but it was clear he couldn't make it away in time.

A bolt of lightning materialized, striking the creature and breaking its concentration. The ground haze disappeared as Terror angled its head in a new direction before burrowing into the ground. Cullen stood and his alarmed eyes darted toward its most likely target. The prisoner's gaze met his and he saw a hint of fear before the demon erupted from beneath her, slamming the girl into a bundle of rift crystals.

She fell to the ground as Terror approached, arm poised to strike. Before its knife-like fingers reached her, there was a flash and small blue motes swam around Faydren. Blue sparks splashed out as each swing it made attempted to penetrate the barrier. Crossbow bolts thudded into the demon one after another and fireballs blasted its chest. Cullen swiftly realized it was the only demon left standing and began attacking as well. It attempted to burrow once more, but the former Templar was ready and slashed at the precise moment its head was in reach. With a shriek, the thing finally fell. Looking around, Cullen felt a pang of alarm. Faydren was no longer lying where she'd fallen. Had she used that time to escape as he'd feared?

There was a great tearing noise followed by a crunch. He quickly turned and was relieved to see the mage had not escaped after all. She was standing unsteadily next to the Seeker – and the rift was closed. Cullen approached the group.

“Lady Cassandra, you managed to close the rift? Well done.”

“Do not congratulate me, Commander. This is the prisoner's doing.”

“Is it?” His eyes still held some suspicion as they turned to Faydren, and his tone was cold. “I hope they're right about you. We've lost a lot of people getting you here.”

Her eyes hardened in response to his obvious mistrust and she subconsciously moved closer to Solas and Varric.

“You're not the only one hoping that,” Faydren's voice was strained.

“We'll see soon enough, won't we.”

***

Solas watched Faydren carefully. As a mage, he knew best how to judge her abilities. While her power was impressive, she was clearly not skilled in continuous use. The girl was pushing herself too hard. Energy poured out from her with each spell she cast. This was why the aura of static around her remained permanent. He was truly surprised that she was still going at this point, especially with the added strain of using the mark.

This was the final test. The first rift. If she could seal it, there was still hope. Perhaps it would even close the Breach itself, though that might be too much to ask. Of course, they must first reopen it. There were tense faces all around as Faydren's hand reached toward the tear. A large roar filled the Temple as the rift ripped open and a Pride demon appeared, rising to its feet with a wicked laugh.

This was something that couldn't be prepared for, but they did what they could. Cassandra taunted the creature, weaving around its legs and avoiding the large claws and whips of electricity. Varric leaped and dodged just out of reach as he and Bianca rained bolts on its head. Solas focused on casting barriers whenever he could and using basic staff magic while his mana replenished.

He was relieved to notice Faydren quickly realizing her preferred element would do little against this beast. Instead, she used her ice staff to attack and stretched her hand toward the rift. It was impossible to close at the moment but as soon as she tried, a large shockwave swept the field and the Pride demon fell to its knees. It was the edge they needed. Though it recovered, she would wait and then try again. This was an excellent strategy, allowing Solas to focus on his own.

The Pride demon was getting weaker. It was only a matter of time now. There had been surprisingly few casualties, and it was a great relief to Solas. This relief was shattered as a scream of pain echoed from behind him. Faydren was on the ground, clutching her left shoulder while it oozed blood. A Shade stood over her with deep red dripping from its claws. Solas cursed himself for not keeping a closer eye on her and the rift. More demons must have slipped through. The elf set the demon's head ablaze, throwing it into a panic while archers finished it off.

Elsewhere on the field there was a rumbling groan as the Pride demon fell to the ground and disintegrated. A great cheer went up among the soldiers. Solas rushed to Faydren's side as she struggled to stand.

“Be still. You'll make it worse.”

“No,” she panted. “I have to finish.”

Realizing that she had no intention of listening, he instead helped Faydren to her feet. Gritting her teeth through the pain, she reached out to the rift one last time. Varric moved to stand beside them and Solas met his eyes. The concern in them matched his own. They both knew she was in no shape to attempt this. But it needed to be done.

The sky thundered and the rift roared as Faydren poured herself into closing it. With a resounding crack, the giant tear closed and sent out a shockwave that knocked them all off their feet. The accompanying flash of light could be seen all the way from Haven.

When the dust settled and their eyes adjusted, everyone rejoiced. The Breach remained but had stabilized. They were safe for now. Solas did not rejoice just yet, however. Faydren lay face-down and unmoving on the ground, blood beginning to pool under her shoulder. He knelt and placed his hand on her, eyes closed while he focused. Varric approached behind him.

“Is she-” the dwarf's voice was hoarse.

“She is alive,” Solas breathed a sigh of relief which he heard mirrored behind him. “But we must get her back to Haven immediately.”


	4. The First Few Droplets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events were happening quickly now.  
> New beginnings and a chance to help make the world right again?  
> Or the edge of a precipice before a tragic fall?

The moon was bright, but couldn't outdo the green haze cast by the Breach yawning across the sky. An eerie glow filtered down and played its colors on the white hair of a lone figure standing on the wooden ramparts of Haven's outer walls. Wind gently shifted the snow coating the ground.

Faydren's chest was tight. She didn't want to think about Veran. Or Darius. Or that hole in the sky. Or the mark on her hand. She dug the heels of her palms against her eyes. If only everything would just go away! If only she had died at the Circle or at the Conclave. Whose cruel joke was it for all of this to come down on possibly the one person who would rather see the world fall to pieces - if only to match how she felt. Anger battled with despair for control of her heart.

Somehow Faydren's new mark could close these rifts. It felt like her hand was ripping apart, but she could do it. Now they wanted her help to close the sky itself. It needed to be done, but why did it have to be her! If she could tear out this mark and give it to someone else, she would do it gladly. Let them execute her if they felt the need. The Seeker and that Templar Commander had certainly seemed willing enough.

But she couldn't remove it. And the sky had to be fixed one way or another. Remaking the Inquisition, huh? What could possibly go wrong... At least Cassandra was willing to accept her innocence now. A defeated sigh escaped Faydren's lips, crystallizing in the cool air.

“Hey there, Stormcloud.”

Faydren cringed. The dwarf had chosen that moniker for her quickly. She couldn't deny it was fitting, but it was odd to get a nickname from someone she barely knew. Turning to look down at him, she wasn't surprised to see the crossbow still on his back. Bianca, he had called it? It seemed to be a part of him as much as the chest hair was. Of course, that was another topic entirely...

“What is it, Varric?” Her voice was flat.

“I didn't see you eat anything tonight. You _might_ want to keep your strength up, what with needing to save the world and all that,” he grinned up at her easily.

“I'm fine,” was the curt response.

“As a shameless first-class liar, it behooves me to say that you are terrible at it. Catch!”

Faydren's eyes widened as something dark sailed through the air at her face. Her hands came up instinctively and she grasped at the item, fumbling a few times and nearly dropping it before gaining a solid grip. On closer examination, it was a large chunk of bread. She hadn't felt hungry, but the warm bread did smell nice...

“Um. Thank you,” she mumbled.

Varric had already turned and was walking away, but he nonchalantly waved a hand in response. She felt a twinge of guilt for not being nicer but quickly shut it out. It was just so much easier to feel nothing when everyone hated her...

***

Varric hadn't made it very far out of view before Cullen stepped from the shadows and matched the dwarf's pace. It might have been enough to startle the rogue if he hadn't already seen Cullen lurking there on his way over. The spot wasn't exactly made for hiding, however peeking around the corner did grant full view of a certain mage.

“Leaving your post, Commander? Not afraid she'll meet up with some demons or vanish into a rift once you're not looking?” he quipped.

“It never hurts to be cautious, Varric... She did injure a guard.”

“Accident.”

“How do you know?”

“Solas got a friendly little zap too. You don't see him crying about it. Besides, I seem to remember seeing a certain former Templar saved by a very well-timed spell. She'd probably be dead if it weren't for the elf's barrier, y'know.”

“Well. Yes, but-” Cullen turned the conversation. “Why so protective? You've only just met her.”

“Call it a hunch, Curly, but I think that girl's already seen enough bad happen for one lifetime. Add recent events on top of that, and I'd say she deserves a little protecting.”

“We've all seen enough bad for a lifetime,” Cullen spoke quietly.

“Believe me, I know... But we've also had time to come to terms with it.”

Varric sighed and stopped walking, turning to face the former Templar. The two had met in Kirkwall and, though they hadn't had much interaction, Varric knew he was a good man. He also knew that whatever scars Cullen carried, they weren't all on the outside. It was something the dwarf had always been able to read on people. And something he saw in Faydren as well.

“I read Nightingale's report on Stormcloud. She lived in one of the calmest Circles in Thedas since age seven. According to all records, she was a model apprentice aside from some harmless pranks. Did you read the reports on the fall of Ostwick's Circle?”

“Yes,” Cullen's face was grim.

“Then you know it was a slaughter that night. Trevelyan was listed among the presumed dead. Nobody is quite sure how she got out at all. You and I – hell, most everyone here – we chose how we wanted to live our lives. Everything we've run into was a result of that decision. So where was her choice?”

Cullen remained silent, eyes on the ground. Varric shook his head and rubbed his brow.

“Sorry, Curly. It's been a rough time for everyone. Didn't mean to bite your head off. Was there something you wanted to ask me?”

“I was going to ask your thoughts on the matter. But it seems you already answered,” Cullen's mouth curved into a lopsided grin. “There is one other thing though... 'Stormcloud'?”

“With a mood that grim and grey? How could I not. Plus, I know you've seen the lightning.”

“Indeed,” he chuckled and placed a hand on the dwarf's shoulder. “Get some rest, Varric. We're not out of the woods yet.”

“You could use some sleep yourself.”

“I'll get around to it.”

“Is _everyone_ around here a bad liar?” Varric scoffed playfully and left.

Cullen paused for a moment before turning to look at the ramparts once more. Faydren still stood there, her back to him as she gazed somewhere outside the wall. After his talk with Varric, the woman looked less like a possible threat and more just... alone.

***

The next day, Cullen shifted his weight from one foot to another as he stood with Leliana and Josephine at the war table. He was all but pacing in place. Cassandra was bringing Faydren in to meet them all officially now that she'd agreed to join the Inquisition. Considering how their first meeting went, he was feeling more than a little anxious. What should he say? He couldn't erase the first impression he had given... but perhaps a fresh start now would soften it?

Varric and Cassandra were right. The woman more than deserved their trust after how much she'd risked that day. Not only did she save him with no thought for her own safety, she'd also nearly died trying to close the rift. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Leliana and Josephine met eyes questioningly, but chose not to pry.

The door swung open and Cullen straightened his posture immediately as the Seeker walked in with Faydren at her side. The pale scar across her face stood out against otherwise flawless dark olive skin. Piercing grey eyes landed on each member of the group for a moment before focusing on Cassandra.

“You've met Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition's forces,” Cassandra began.

The gaze he received was cold and wary. Of course she decided to start with him... Cullen did his best to appear amiable and even smiled somewhat as he spoke.

“It was only for a moment on the field. I'm pleased you survived.”

The look on Faydren's face went from politely neutral to pure shock as her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. He felt a pang of guilt at seeing such a strong reaction to his simple statement. Had she really thought he hated her so much?

The mage swiftly recovered, but her reaction did not go unnoticed by the astute ladies on either side of him as they both quirked an eyebrow in his direction. They were no doubt going to ask him about this later. Cullen cringed inwardly. Maker preserve him... The rest of the introductions proceeded normally before they dove into the heart of the matter – who to approach for assistance in closing the Breach.

Leliana wanted mages. Cullen thought Templars would be far more suitable and trustworthy. He had been one himself after all. Upon mentioning this, he was surprised to see no reaction from Faydren. The Commander had expected fear or concern, possibly hatred. She didn't even bat an eyelash. Had she been told?

The argument was interrupted as Josephine reminded them that who they chose didn't matter for the moment. They would be unable to recruit help from either group until they were legitimized. More discussion ensued on how to remedy the situation (Faydren was less than pleased with her new title as the 'Herald of Andraste'). Finally it was decided that the Herald would seek out a Revered Mother in the Hinterlands who was sympathetic to their cause. While there, she should look for other ways to improve their reputation among the people. Faydren didn't express much confidence in the plan, but at least she seemed willing to try.

***

The Herald of Andraste? They couldn't be serious. Not only was she a mage, she was also far from a pious Andrastian. It was difficult to feel any special love for the Chantry when it taught everyone to fear you. Faydren had overlooked that in the past, choosing to focus on its finer points. With things as they were now, it was hard to be so forgiving.

The title also made her more than a little uncomfortable. Walking around Haven, she gathered reactions varying from suspicion and doubt to awe and worship. Eyes were on her everywhere, waiting for either some earth-shattering mistake or a world-saving miracle. Faydren toyed with the idea of making a break for it, but she knew it wouldn't do any good now. Not to mention the guilt.

“So should I start calling you 'Herald' now?”

Faydren rubbed her eyes and sighed as she rotated to greet the familiar voice. Somehow she had ended up back on the ramparts. It was away from the stares at least.

“If you refuse to call me by my real name, I think I'd at least prefer the previous one you were using.”

“Alright then, Stormcloud,” Varric grinned cheekily. “Seems we have ourselves a mission. Going to the Hinterlands?”

“So it appears.”

“You never know - it could be fun.”

“Right. And I’m sure nobody will try to kill us while we’re there,” Faydren responded drily.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” the dwarf chuckled. “Did you enjoy discussing with our fearless leaders?”

“’Enjoy’ is an interesting word choice. Informative I suppose,” she looked thoughtful. “None of them seem to hate me anymore at least.”

“Well that’s a good start! Now we just need to get the Chantry on your side and you’ll be unstoppable.”

“You’re not helping…”

***

The four companions walked quickly but cautiously through the mountainous countryside of the Hinterlands. Cassandra and Solas walked in front discussing various philosophical topics while Faydren lagged behind and Varric kept pace with her.

“You know, I’m not sure if our group could get any more conspicuous,” the dwarf mused.

“What do you mean?” Faydren’s eyes had been glued to the ground, but she raised them to look at him now.

“Well, there’s the Seeker – a woman in full battle armor and one of the most intimidating people I know; Chuckles – a bald elf apostate who looks a bit like a vagabond; yours truly - a beardless dwarf with a gorgeous repeating crossbow name Bianca; and you, Stormcloud. You’re certainly not the most generic human I’ve ever seen.”

“We do tend to stick out a bit,” Faydren nodded in agreement with his summation.

No sooner was this observation spoken than an arrow hissed past her face and Cassandra shouted for them to get down. She blinked once before swiftly dropping to a crouch, staff at the ready. A blue aura popped into place around each of them as Solas cast a barrier. Varric slung Bianca off his back easily and loosed a bolt in the direction of the archer. It struck him dead-on and the man dropped to the ground.

No other attacks came, but the group was wary as they crested the last hill on the path to the Crossroads. They came to a halt, taking in the scene before them. It looked like a battlefield. Ice spiked up from the ground while fire licked at the grass. Arrows practically carpeted the area, and bodies lay interspersed among the carnage.

“What has happened here?” Solas breathed.

“It’s a war zone…” Varric mumbled.

“Looks like apostates,” Cassandra’s voice was tight.

“And Templars…” Varric kicked over the archer who had attacked them. The emblem on his chest was clear.

“But- why would the Templars attack us?” This clearly bothered the Seeker. Solas and Faydren looked at each other.

“Let us continue, Seeker. We must reach Mother Giselle,” the elf spoke softly.

“Of course,” Cassandra quickly refocused. They had a mission after all.

They ran into a few more altercations on their way to the Revered Mother’s reported location. Both mages and Templars attacked indiscriminately, and it swiftly became clear they had no intention of listening to reason. With innocent people getting hurt in the conflict, there was no time to deal with them peacefully. The four cut a bloody swath through the battle lines – fire and lightning, blade and crossbow. Eventually their interference forced a temporary retreat among the warring factions.

By the time the Herald’s entourage reached the refugee camp they were covered in sweat and dirt and completely exhausted. People looked at them with fear as they passed, unsure if they were about to be driven out again. This fear was allayed as a shout went up from a young man jumping down from a makeshift watchtower.

“They pushed them back! The Inquisition pushed the mages and Templars back!”

Murmurs of relief and gratitude filled the air around them as the refugees moved closer, smiling and bowing their heads. Faydren was extremely uncomfortable, unsure how to respond. The others thankfully had no trouble and they were soon brought before the Revered Mother. Before approaching her, their escort stopped and raised his hand.

“Mother Giselle wished to speak to the Herald alone.”

Faydren’s eyes looked to Cassandra questioningly. The Seeker gave a reluctant nod. This was clearly not to her liking, but it was best to comply. The Herald walked on alone. Without Cassandra there, Faydren was certain the Chantry mother would immediately see her for what she was – just a random mage who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her jaw tightened. At least it would be over quickly.

***

While they waited for the Herald to return, the others found other matters to attend to. Cassandra found one of Leliana’s scouts and discussed defenses and patrols to be put in place around the Crossroads. Solas searched around the area for herbs and useful items to help the healers. Varric attempted to raise spirits by telling exciting tales to a large group of children – the parents seemed equally as interested.

The three had only just reassembled when their fourth’s shock of white hair was spotted moving toward them. Seeing Faydren’s face as she rejoined them, the companions were not hopeful. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes were down. She slowed to a stop in front of them.

“I take it things did not go well,” the Seeker’s voice held thinly-veiled disappointment.

“Actually… she wants to help. She’s meeting us back in Haven once her work is done here,” Faydren looked up. She hadn’t been distressed – she was confused.

“But that is excellent!” Solas replied warmly.

“Mission accomplished, Stormcloud,” Varric grinned.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Faydren visibly relaxed somewhat. “Although…”

“What is it, Herald?” Cassandra ignored Faydren’s look in response to the title.

“Is there… anything we can do here? I’m sure it would help the Inquisition’s reputation. You said to do that too.”

Though the words sounded self-serving, it was obvious to those watching that it was merely an attempt to mask the mage’s desire to do something for the people hurting all around them. She knew what it was like to wake up and suddenly have no place to call home.

“I’m sure we can come up with something,” Varric hid a smile and walked in the direction of a hunter standing over a cooking pot. “Let’s ask around.”

***

It was a couple of days before they returned to Haven. The motley group was exhausted but seemed pleased. The refugees were doing much better now, and they had even recruited some new agents. Inquisition forces had setup near the Crossroads and kept close watch for any trouble.

Faydren was practically asleep while walking. Of the party, she was the least accustomed to long journeys - but she had refused to ask for any extra breaks. The group had split up to rest, but Cassandra just sent a message asking to meet her in the War Room. Already on edge, the scene unfolding in front of the Chantry did nothing for her peace of mind.

Mages and Templars that had been taking refuge in Haven since the explosion were getting antsy. Some accusations were thrown and things were about to come to blows. Faydren reached for her staff warily. Hadn’t she seen enough of this in the Hinterlands? Before anything drastic could happen, Cullen stepped between the two groups. The man certainly had an air of authority about him. He diffused the situation and the crowd began to move on.

Soon it was just Cullen and Chancellor Roderick speaking in heated tones while Faydren stood by cautiously. The Chancellor had already made his attitude toward her very clear. She had no issue returning the favor. Her static aura crackled slightly when the cleric came near, and her gaze was dark. He eased himself further away from her.

The conversation ended and Cullen turned to her with a tired half-smile. His change in attitude still surprised her, but it was not unwelcome. Without the scowl of distrust, he was actually quite good-looking. That realization was… unexpected.

“Maker willing, the walls will still be standing when you get back,” the Commander joked.

“Get back?” Faydren’s eyes narrowed. “From where?”

“Val Royeaux,” he said matter-of-factly.

“What?” Faydren gave him a blank look.

“Oh. Then you haven’t spoken to Lady Cassandra yet. We should go in,” Cullen paused. “Actually, I have a question for you.”

“Yes?”

“You didn't seem surprised when I said I used to be a Templar. Did Cassandra tell you?”

“No,” for a moment Cullen thought he saw a hint of amusement in her eyes. “You act like one.”

Faydren walked past him and into the Chantry. He hastily followed, not quite sure if her words were a compliment or not...


	5. A Steady Drizzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition is growing. Faydren can only hope that all of these talented people are able to do what they plan. More importantly, she hopes that the faith they've put in her is not misplaced...

Faydren exited the War Room and shook her head as the others continued to discuss. Even when the door closed behind her, their voices were still audible. It was interesting that a group with such diverse opinions and backgrounds could complement each other so well – though it also made for arguments that lasted far beyond her own willingness to endure. They had excused her graciously enough when she asked for some time to think their plans over.

Walking slowly towards the Chantry exit, the mage rolled her shoulders a few times and stretched. Val Royeaux had not gone as planned. It could have been worse, of course. When they first arrived in the city, she was certain they'd be attacked by the Templars on sight. Seeing them turn on the Chantry instead was... unexpected. To say the least.

The trip wasn't a complete loss though. Two new allies had sought her out and joined the Inquisition. The elf girl Sera was a strange one for sure, but she had connections all across Thedas with the Friends of Red Jenny. Vivienne was a much harder read... she already had power and influence in her circles. Was it truly her only goal to help restore order?

It was still odd that somehow Faydren Trevelyan had become the face and name for this endeavor, but thankfully she hadn't managed to completely bollix things yet. If all the rest of them needed to fix this world was a symbol to stand for, at least she could try to provide that. Faydren moved a hand to her chest where she could feel the coolness of Darius' pendant against her skin. Wearing it under her clothes seemed the best way to avoid prying questions, and its presence comforted her.

Stepping outside, the cool mountain breeze chilled her skin but it felt nice. Her eyes looked to the Breach for a moment – as they usually did – and in that time she nearly collided with a young armored man who was standing near the doors.

“Pardon me,” he straightened into a somewhat military posture.

 “Apologies. That was my fault,” Faydren inclined her head and moved to continue.

“Wait- if you will, I've been trying to get someone from the Inquisition to speak to me for a while now.”

“Oh... Alright, what did you need?” She could handle a simple message.

“We've got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander, Iron Bull, offers the information free of charge. If you'd like to see what the Bull's Chargers can do for the Inquisition, meet us there and watch us work,” the young man was polite and professional.

“Why did your commander send us this information?” Faydren asked carefully.

“Iron Bull wants to work for the Inquisition. He thinks you're doing good work.”

“We'll consider your offer,” she didn't feel right accepting without speaking to the others, but this could prove useful.

“I appreciate it. We're the best you'll find,” he smiled and gave a quick bow before leaving.

He was long gone before she realized they hadn't even introduced themselves.

***

Faydren enjoyed the rain - and the Storm Coast had plenty of it. She had managed to convince her usual traveling companions that checking out this mercenary company could prove beneficial. Since the Herald didn't pursue her own ideas very often, they assumed she had a pretty strong gut feeling on this one. And she did, strangely enough.

Inquisition scouts had spotted the Chargers along the coast engaging with an enemy force. Faydren led the group in the direction pointed out. It was difficult to keep good footing as the rocks and gravel slid around in the mud under their boots. Living in the Circle didn't exactly provide great experience in counteracting that sort of thing either, but she managed to make it down the steep incline to the shore without losing face. From there, they could hear the sounds of battle nearby.

Turning the corner, Cassandra quickly brought up her shield. An arrow glanced off of it harmlessly. Solas cast his barrier and Varric picked out a good place to stand as Faydren stepped next to the Seeker in order to see the situation. Two groups were engaged on the beach – one wearing colors she didn't recognize and the others dressed in simple but well-made armor. The latter were outnumbered but holding their own.

“Those colors... that symbol. They were being truthful, those are Tevinter soldiers. But what are they doing here?” Cassandra spoke quietly. The arrow had been a stray, and neither side had noticed them yet.

“Perhaps we should assist first and then find out?” The Herald whispered back.

“You may be right. More of them are coming,” without another word, the dark-haired warrior charged into the fray.

Varric and Solas both nodded before beginning a ranged assault. Faydren assisted as well, her lightning lancing across the battlefield. However, there were more reinforcements rushing along the water than it had first appeared. They immediately veered in the direction of the outlying mages and archer, swords raised high. Faydren didn't see them approaching outside her peripheral.

“Stormcloud!”

Hearing the warning in time to see the blade slicing toward her, she vanished into a blue haze that shot across the ground leaving frost in its wake. Faydren attempted to stop and felt her feet slip on the rain-slick gravel. _Oh shit_. She crashed into a supply crate and tumbled over it, landing unceremoniously in a heap on the other side.

This did not go unnoticed, and she looked up to find two Tevinter soldiers preparing to attack. Before they got the chance, a gigantic greataxe swung into one and smashed them both aside. Faydren craned her neck upward to meet eyes with the largest person she had ever seen. It was a Qunari. And he was grinning down at her with amusement.

She scowled up at him defiantly and slammed the blade of her staff into the ground, pushing to her feet as a blast of cold energy shot out from it. Faydren went back to the battle without a word. The Qunari turned to find a soldier frozen solid behind him. His grin grew even wider as he smashed it to gory bits.

***

As the last Tevinter fell, Faydren wiped at the rain running into her eyes. She was a little tired, but pleased to realize that her training with Solas was paying off – narrowing her focus to use less power more effectively. Looking over, she saw the Qunari giving orders and gesturing. It seemed he was in charge. The moniker suddenly made a lot of sense.

“You should speak with him alone,” Solas spoke as he moved next to her.

“Why do you say that?” Faydren questioned.

“These are mercenaries. It is customary for one leader to speak to the other when discussing terms.”

“He is right. Having us there would make you look weaker, and thus the Inquisition by proxy,” Cassandra was reluctant in her agreement.

“Then shouldn't Cassandra go? _I'm_ not the leader,” Faydren shook her head.

“You're the Herald of Andraste, Stormcloud. Sounds awfully leader-ish to me.”

“Well if you are all agreed, it seems I have little choice,” she sighed, shooting Varric a look.

Faydren strode over to the Qunari. He turned to greet her with the same easy grin as before. She didn't return it, still frustrated that he'd needed to assist her.

“You must be with the Inquisition.”

“And I take it you're Iron Bull,” even standing, she had to tilt her head back to look at him.

“The horns always give it away. Come, have a seat,” he walked a few steps before sitting down on a large rock. Faydren chose to remain standing. She could finally see his face without straining her neck now. The young man from Haven walked up to them.

“I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant.”

“Good to see you again,” Cremisius nodded in her direction. So that was his name.

The two men spoke for a few moments, clearly comfortable trading joking insults. When they were done, Bull made his proposal. After seeing them in action, Faydren was convinced the mercenaries would indeed be helpful. Before the final decision could be made, the Qunari gave her one last piece of information. A surprising one at that.

“You're a spy... And you just - told me?” She blinked at him incredulously.

“Whatever happened at that conclave thing is bad. Someone needs to get that breach closed. So whatever I am, I'm on your side.”

Faydren mulled it over for a little while longer. He seemed sincere. And he could have tried to hide the truth. With how loyal the Chargers seemed, Iron Bull couldn't be all bad. She locked eyes with him.

“You're in. Don't make me regret this.”

“We'll meet you back in Haven,” he nodded before turning his attention back to the Chargers and issuing new orders.

Faydren left to the sound of more friendly banter between him and the lieutenant. Her own companions were waiting patiently for her return. She filled them in on the conversation.

“A Qunari spy?! I hope you know what you are doing,” Cassandra shook her head.

“If you didn't trust my judgment, you should have talked to him yourself,” Faydren said flatly before heading back to camp.

***

They were in the Hinterlands. Again. Being born and raised in Kirkwall, Varric had no love for nature. Even traveling with Hawke, they'd mostly avoided long treks in the wilderness. Sometimes he wished the Herald would just leave him back at Haven. On the other hand, there was something to be said for watching Faydren experience it all for the first time. It was like watching a little kid, the way she darted from new thing to new thing. She certainly never had nature walks at the Circle, and he doubted she was watching the scenery last time they came through. This time they were less rushed and had a little more leeway to explore.

Officially they were there to locate the Grey Warden named Blackwall and check out some other issues deemed worth investigating. Unofficially, the Inquisition council needed more time to gain enough influence to approach the mages and/or Templars (Varric still had no idea which side they were going to choose). But Stormcloud got antsy staying at Haven for too long so they found some assignments to occupy her. Who wouldn't get antsy in such a small settlement where everyone knew who and what you were...

Cassandra had stayed behind this time, having other matters to attend to. Their traveling group now consisted of Faydren, Solas, himself, and Iron Bull. Despite his previous experience with Qunari, Varric had warmed up to the mercenary captain quite easily. Looking around at everyone, he couldn't help chuckling a little as he stepped up next to the Herald.

“I was wrong, Stormcloud. We did get more conspicuous. ‘A human, a dwarf, an elf, and a Qunari walk into a tavern…’” Varric mused.

Faydren didn't look down at him but her lips curved into a small smile as she realized they were indeed quite the sight.

“Aha! I knew it would come out eventually,” the dwarf practically shouted, getting looks from Solas and Iron Bull who had not been paying attention. Faydren was startled by the sudden loud exclamation beside her and the smile vanished.

“You knew what would come out?”

“That pretty smile hiding behind the clouds,” he smirked up at her triumphantly.

Faydren’s mouth worked open and closed but no words would come. Finally she gave up and cleared her throat before asking Iron Bull something instead.

***

The Iron Bull looked down at the white hair bobbing along beside him and smiled. His first impression had been that she was powerful, but inexperienced – seeing her crash into that supply crate was hilarious though. Second impression concluded that the girl was tougher than she looked – not many people attempt to stare down the first Qunari they meet. Now? She was the Boss - though not in the way he was expecting.

When he had offered to be her bodyguard, it was a simple business agreement and a way to get close to the leaders of the Inquisition. It wasn't often that he actually found someone _worth_ protecting, even if he never got paid. Despite her outward coldness, Bull found himself growing quite fond of the little mage. With his Ben-Hassrath training, the hardened facade Faydren put up was pretty much useless. Underneath he could see a hurt and scared young girl - angry, but still kind and caring. He knew that she kept the mask on as much for her own sake as anyone else's, so he let it remain. At least until the time came when she no longer felt the need for it.

“Bull!”

“Yeah, Boss?” He realized by her frown that she must have been talking to him for a while now.

“You didn't hear a word I said, did you...”

“Nope,” he grinned roguishly.

“Never mind then... And why do you keep calling me 'Boss'?”

“Because that's what you are,” he had picked up early on that she hated all the titles and honorifics that were tossed on her recently.

“It doesn't make much sense. You're far more experienced at leading than I am, yet you're calling me the boss,” her nose wrinkled slightly. He didn't think she'd appreciate finding out it looked more adorable than angry.

“You pay, I work. So - you are the boss.”

“Tiny has a point,” Varric added from behind them. The nickname he had given the Qunari was ridiculous. Bull loved it. But he wouldn't tell the dwarf that.

“Helpful as always, Varric...” Faydren went quiet and stopped walking.

“Awww don't be like that, Stormcloud!”

As the rest of them stopped to look at her, Bull noticed her face had changed from mild frustration to nervous puzzlement. Her eyes took on a telltale violet outline as they scanned the open area around them. Short white hair began to raise in the static growing around her. He could feel it now too. Something was off. Nature was too quiet. The sound of Solas and Varric readying their weapons signified they also knew – they were being watched.

Faydren's magic acted first as a lightning bolt materialized behind Solas and struck, revealing a bandit with two daggers about to sink into the elf's back. The shock was not enough to incapacitate the assassin, but gave Solas time to cast a barrier. The daggers glanced off, creating blue sparks. Snarling, the assailant was about to try again when one of Varric's bolts caught him in the throat. He dropped to the ground, twitching and gurgling.

A shout went up, and men popped out from behind multiple rocks and trees. Four were drawing back their arrows while another five charged in with simple blades. Bull went to meet them head-on, roaring with adrenaline. It was only natural for a normal man to be given pause when a horned giant barrels toward you, and pause they did. Spinning with the momentum, Iron Bull swung his axe in a great overhead arc before smashing it into the ground at their feet. The earth crumbled and two of the attackers fell on their asses. The Qunari looked down at them with a savage grin. Game over.

After finishing them off, Bull scoped out the fight. Two archers were convulsing on the ground. Bull wasn't sure he'd ever get used to seeing electricity bouncing all around him while he fought, but he couldn't deny its effectiveness. One of the other archers lay still with two bolts in his chest. A flaming swordsman screamed and ran around, arms flailing wildly. Bull split his skull out of pity.

That left only one archer and two melee that had made it past him. The others shouldn't be having any trouble. He turned and swiftly discovered that not to be true. Another rogue had come out of stealth and was dancing around Faydren, making quick stabs now and then. If it wasn't for Solas' barrier and a lot of dodging and blocks with her staff, she's probably be cut to ribbons. The other two were holding their own but had been distracted trying to help the Herald.

Her back was to him now as she faced down the rogue circling slowly. With a growl, Bull remembered there was still one more archer. The barrier vanished, but Solas was dealing with his own attacker. The archer was too far for Iron Bull to reach in time so he ran toward Faydren instead, placing his considerable bulk between her and the archer's position. Not even a second later, he felt an arrow punch through part of his leather harness. The wound wasn't deep, but damn it stung like hell.

Faydren's head turned to look up at him in wide-eyed surprise. He smirked and grabbed the back of her jacket, tossing her to the side before he swung his axe horizontally along the ground. The assassin had not been ready for the change in opponent and took the axe straight to the chest, launching into a nearby outcropping of rock where he fell limply to the ground.

There was a furious scream behind Bull and the sound of ice shattering. He smiled. It seemed the archer would no longer be a problem either. And with that, the battle was done. The four of them regrouped, breathing a bit heavy but mostly unharmed. Faydren looked positively livid, her eyes still glowing dangerously as she glared at him.

“What were you thinking?!”

“I'm a bodyguard, Boss. I was guarding,” his response was easy and relaxed.

“I'd like to see you guard anything while you're dead!”

“It's barely a scratch. It'll heal up nicely and I get a sweet new scar out of the deal.”

“Calm down, Stormcloud. He knew what he was doing,” Varric cautioned.

“Things may have gone worse had he not assisted in that way,” Solas spoke calmly.

That seemed to take the wind out of her sails and Faydren's shoulders sagged. She dropped her eyes to the ground and turned away from them.

“We'll head to the Crossroads and get it looked at. Then let's just find this Blackwall person and get back to Haven...”

Iron Bull noted the cuts all over her armor and a slight limp as she walked away. He frowned. He'd thrown her harder than intended. She must have hit something. And that damned assassin may have done more damage than she was letting on. Solas and Varric nodded at him in silent agreement. Oh they'd be stopping at the Crossroads alright.


	6. The Heavens Open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stress is beginning to pile on. For someone who had almost no responsibilities prior to the last year, the pressure has started to reach a boiling point.  
> One major decision has been made, and the time has come to approach the Templars - but will Faydren be able to gain their assistance? Not to mention there's something strange going on behind the scenes...

The morning sun was just creeping over the mountains, glinting off the swords and shields of the trainees outside Haven. The blonde man in charge of their training strode confidently amidst the sparring, tossing out occasional instructions and encouragement. Cullen turned back towards the town and was surprised to catch sight of her white hair atop the ramparts. Reports said the Herald and her party had returned very late last night from their latest venture into the Hinterlands. It was strange that she would be up so early.

It wasn't strange to see her up on the ramparts though. Faydren had taken to standing in that spot quite regularly, and often Cullen would catch her watching the training intently. If she noticed him looking back, her eyes would quickly move elsewhere. At first it was unnerving to have her up there all the time with that piercing gaze. Now, however, he was keenly aware of the empty ramparts any time she was away from Haven. Tossing out a few more pointers as he went, the Commander made his way toward the gate.

She didn't turn as he walked up the stairs and came to a stop next to her. Faydren's steely eyes were distant, as though she were staring somewhere far beyond the Frostback mountains. Not sure how to avoid startling her, Cullen cleared his throat gently. The mage's eyes cleared and she blinked a few times before her gaze met his.

“Oh, hello Commander.”

“Good morning,” he suddenly realized that he hadn't had a reason to go up there. Thankfully, she saved him from needing to make one up.

“Have you all decided on a course of action yet?”

“No... There are still many risks being pointed out on both sides. We can't seem to come to an agreement,” he sighed.

“I see,” she nodded slowly. “What would be your choice?”

“I stand by my claim that the Templars would be a far safer bet, and perfectly capable. I don't trust the mages to-” he stopped as a flash of hurt sparked in her eyes. “That didn't come out right. The mages are desperate right now, and I worry they might do something reckless. The Templars act out of duty, and should remember that when the time comes.”

Faydren was once more looking out across the landscape. Unable to tell if she was upset or just thinking, Cullen simply stood quietly at her side. Eventually he brought up another topic that had been nagging at the back of his mind.

“Herald,” he began, lowering his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck. “About what you said before... You said I 'acted' like a Templar.”

“Yes,” she eyed him curiously before realization dawned. “Ah, you're concerned how I meant it.”

“The thought has crossed my mind,” he looked up to find the same expression in her eyes he'd seen the first time – something that almost looked like amusement.

“I have known many Templars in my life, Commander. I'm comfortable saying that you rank among the good ones,” her gaze softened. “Even without being part of the Order anymore, _you_  are what a Templar is supposed to be.”

Cullen was speechless. In all honesty, that response was not remotely what he expected. Though to be fair, he wasn't sure what to expect. So far this woman had surprised him at every turn. As he searched helplessly for words, Faydren suddenly looked sad and extremely tired. Moving past him slowly, she apologized.

“Perhaps I should have allowed myself to sleep a while longer...”

“Of course. Rest well,” he managed to get out.

Cullen watched until she went out of view before he headed back to the trainees.

***

‘ _Allowed myself to sleep longer…_ ’ Faydren thought bitterly. She hadn’t slept at all. Her body was exhausted, her mind was exhausted, but sleep hadn’t come easily since the whole mess started. It explained why she hadn’t even noticed Cullen come up to her. Had he wanted something? She didn’t remember asking.

His comment about not trusting mages hurt more than she would have thought. It wasn’t targeted at her, and Faydren knew that. But the fact remained that she _was_ a mage. It was difficult having to prove yourself to everyone you met. Worse, it was impossible to tell if they ever truly trusted you. Being reminded of this by someone she’d grown to respect only stung that much more.

The Commander was a good man and a good Templar. She’d had enough experience with both to know. There was a pang of sorrow in her heart and she pulled Darius’ pendant out, holding it gently. He would have liked Cullen. Would he be proud of her? Was she doing the right thing? Maybe if Darius were here, she wouldn’t be so afraid. But he wasn’t. Faydren slid the pendant back down her shirt.

The large bruise on her left thigh ached. It wasn’t anything serious, but getting tossed against a tree did in fact leave a mark. Bull needed to work on his aim. The mage still felt beyond guilty that he had taken the arrow meant for her, even though it turned out to be a minor injury. It seemed like everyone got hurt because of her. They didn’t mind, but she did.

Approaching the door to her quarters, Faydren saw Josephine standing there patiently. The Antivan woman didn’t seem to go anywhere without her writing board and all manner of papers. Her lips curved into a smile as she saw the Herald.

“Ah, Lady Trevelyan!” Faydren internally rolled her eyes at the title.

“Yes, Ambassador?”

“We’ve received word from your family,” Josie paused as Faydren noticeably stiffened. “They are interested in offering assistance to the Inquisition-”

“Ha!” The laugh was harsh and mirthless. “Of course they are. Now that their daughter is the ‘Herald of Andraste’ and not just some mage.”

“I take it you are not on the best of terms?”

“More like no terms at all,” she spat. “I’m surprised they even chose to acknowledge my existence.”

“Would you like me to reject their assistance then?” Josephine asked the question sincerely.

“I- No.” Faydren was surprised by the offer and it cooled her temper. “We need all the help we can get, right? Do what you want with them…”

“As you wish, Herald. I’ll make sure you are not involved in this any further,” Josephine said gently and inclined her head.

“I’d appreciate that,” Faydren replied quietly. “Thank you, Josephine.”

Rather than entering her quarters to attempt sleep like she’d planned, Faydren turned on her heel and headed for the tavern. She’d never been drunk before, but now sounded like as good a time as any.

***

Varric woke up to vigorous shaking and a familiar voice blaring in his ear.

“VARRIIIIC! Oi, dwarf! Wake up!”

“Andraste’s ass, Buttercup, what is it? Do you even know what time I went to sleep?” His response was gruff but not unpleasant.

“No idea! I figured if the Herald was up already, it couldn’t be that bad,” Sera grinned at him with zero pity.

“Wait, Stormcloud is awake?” Varric had the sneaking suspicion that meant she had never gone to sleep.

“Not for long at the rate she’s going,” Sera cackled.

“What do you mean?” The rogue was suddenly glad he hadn’t completely undressed last night. He shrugged on a shirt and boots.

“Our fearless leader is _completely_ sloshed!”

“Uh oh. What did you do, Buttercup?”

“It wasn’t me, I swear! She was like that when I got there!” The cheery elf made for the tavern with Varric following close behind.

The tavern door swung open as the mismatched archer pair stepped in. It was still early enough that the place was completely empty aside from the barkeeper and the bard. Both nodded at Varric genially. He returned the gesture before spotting his target and frowning as he moved over to her.

Faydren was slumped over the table, but her eyes were only half closed. Both hands were clasped around a large, empty tankard. Dust-coated clothes and bloodshot eyes confirmed his theory – she never went to bed. He sighed and sat down across from her. Her focus moved to him blearily.

“Hi Varric,” the greeting was followed by a slight hiccup.

“Hey, Stormcloud,” his voice was gentle. “Anything you wanna talk about?”

Faydren shook her head mournfully.

“How about we get you back to your room then?” Varric was hoping the alcohol might put her to sleep.

Faydren appeared to consider for a moment before nodding slowly and lurching to her feet. Varric hopped up and quickly reached out to steady her. It was pretty obvious that she wasn’t a big drinker, though he had already assumed that. Even with him supporting her on one side, the mage could barely remain standing.

“Hey Buttercup, mind giving us a hand here?”

“Aw, I was looking forward to watching! But alright,” Sera moved under Faydren’s other arm and the three of them shuffled out.

Varric was thankful that they didn’t run into anyone on the way to her room. People were all still sleeping or off taking care of other business. They managed to get through the door sideways and set Faydren down on the bed. Sera stood back and watched in amusement as Varric removed their charge’s boots and jacket. He wasn’t comfortable fully undressing her, so he simply helped her lie down like that. Adjusting the blankets so that she’d be warm enough, he rested a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Faydren’s eyes were closed now and he barely heard the mumbled words.

“Don’t worry about it,” he smiled and left quietly, snagging Sera on his way out.

“Why don’t you keep this one to yourself, Buttercup,” Varric requested of the trickster.

“Wot, really? But this is sooo good! I could hold it over her for a week at least!”

The dwarf gave her a level gaze.

“Oh fine, ya fuddy-dud. My lips are sealed. But if this happens again, I get to have some fun with it!” Sera sauntered off back to the tavern.

Varric chuckled and shook his head, meandering back to his own room. If Sera had really wanted to have fun with it, she wouldn’t have come to get his help first. It seemed even she had a soft spot for their Herald. Taking off the shirt and boots, he crawled under the covers once more. Hopefully Faydren would get some sleep now… The girl was plenty exhausted from the trip. Add an all-nighter and some alcohol on top of that? She’d have to be a golem not to pass out. Eyes closed, he grinned. It was nice to see the walls down every once in a while though.

“Sweet dreams, Stormcloud.”

***

It was a couple of days before Faydren once again met with the War Council. All preparations were complete, and now the time had come to make a choice. First, Leliana gave a review of what had come from the Herald's last trip to the Hinterlands.

“The refugees are thrilled with our work, as are the soldiers stationed to assist them. We have provided blankets, food, and extra healers; driven out the mages and Templars; killed a demon possessing wolves; and set up watchtowers to assist on the roads. Some of the more skilled refugees have pledged their service,” she paused.

“The Herald was able to find Grey Warden Blackwall. He did not have any information regarding the disappearance of other Wardens, however he has agreed to stay and assist the Inquisition. Lastly, it appears that the rebel mages have taken over Redcliffe and cast out Arl Teagan. It is currently unclear what their motivations are.”

With that, the discussion began in earnest once more. Cassandra and Cullen vehemently pushed for Templars while Leliana and Josephine still believed the mages were salvageable. Their voices and ideals clashed in the small room like a discordant symphony. Faydren remained quiet, listening intently before finally deciding to speak.

“I think we should talk to the Templars.”

The room went completely silent as the full council looked at her in surprise. Her words had been quiet but firm. They were not used to hearing her speak an opinion. Eyes serious and jaw set, it was clear she intended to stand by her declaration.

“The mages have shown themselves to be untrustworthy. We can try to talk sense to them once the Breach is no longer a threat,” she managed to keep the pain from her voice.

“That breaks the deadlock. It seems we shall be approaching the Templars then,” Josephine scribbled something on her board.

“According to our sources, they are currently holding at Therinfal Redoubt,” Leliana’s hand circled a spot on the map.

“Therinfal? What would have taken them there?” Cassandra asked no one in particular.

Now that a decision was made, the four worked together seamlessly to arrange for the mission’s success. It was intriguing to see, and Faydren quite enjoyed watching them. More often than not, her eyes would be drawn to wavy blonde hair and a small scar above the lip… It didn’t take long for the plans to get hammered out, and everyone seemed pleased to be making progress finally.

“It will take some time to make the preparations, Herald. We’ll let you know when everything is ready,” Cullen opened the door and motioned for the ladies to exit first.

“Always the gentleman,” Leliana teased as she passed him.

A hint of red touched his cheeks. Josephine tried to hide a giggle when she exited as well. Cassandra strode out as though it was perfectly normal, leaving only Faydren’s turn to leave. She paused just in front of Cullen and looked up at his face. The poor man’s eyes were still averted in embarrassment. Faydren smiled despite herself, quickly moving past to hide it.

“Thank you, Commander,” was spoken over her shoulder.

***

Faydren cringed as they approached the throng of Orlesian nobles. This part of the plan she did _not_ like. The ‘privileged’ grated on her nerves like nothing else. This was going to be stressful enough without having to worry about their delicate sentiments. One such noble immediately stepped up on her arrival and introduce himself as Lord Esmeral Abernache. It was a struggle to avoid rolling her eyes or punching him as he spoke to her with an overabundance of arrogance. Finally he seemed ready to move on.

“Care to mark the moment? Ten Orlesian houses walk with you.”

“No speeches,” she said flatly. “Just get me the chance to ask the Templars to help close the breach.”

“Ceremony has value, 'Herald',” he sniffed imperiously. “Speaking of which, I don't suppose you'd divulge what finally got their attention? Rumor will if you won't.”

“What do you mean?” Faydren was genuinely confused.

They were walking now and made their way slowly up to the portcullis of Therinfal Redoubt. Abernache was convince that she had done something to gain the Lord Seeker's interest since he refused to meet until she was there. The mage assured him it was not her doing, and they agreed it was perhaps some work of the diplomats.

They approached a dark-skinned Templar who appeared to be sent to greet them. A crier introduced him as Ser Delrin Barris. Titles everywhere... The crier then began to introduce Lord Abernache, but Barris simply pushed past upon seeing Faydren. It was then that she recalled him as one of the Templars who left Val Royeaux – albeit reluctantly.

“I'm the one who sent word to Cullen. He said the Inquisition works to close this Breach in the Veil,” he paused. “I didn't think you'd bring such lofty company.”

This of course prompted some snide remarks on status from Abernache, who was clearly miffed at being passed over so swiftly. Barris ignored it and continued.

“This... promise of status has garnered the interest of the Lord Seeker. Beyond sense. The sky burns with magic, but he ignores all calls to action until your friends arrive.”

“Will the Templars stand with the Inquisition against the Breach?” Faydren was hopeful at this point.

“Only if we're allowed to leave and uphold our pledge,” he sighed and stepped closer, lowering his voice. “The Lord Seeker's actions make no sense. He promised to restore the Order's honor, then marched us here to wait? Templars should know their duty, even when held from it.”

“How refreshing, to meet a Templar who remembers his charge,” the bitterness was obvious in Solas' voice. Faydren gave him a look.

“Win over the Lord Seeker, and every able-bodied knight will help the Inquisition seal the Breach,” Barris spoke with passion. He truly wanted her to succeed.

“If you think we're right, abandon the Lord Seeker and help us,” Faydren spoke forcefully. If she could just get the knights...

“We can't abandon our orders. Not while the officers who survived the Conclave follow him,” the disappointment in his voice was clear. “We've been asked to accept much, after that shameful display in Val Royeaux. Our truth changes on the hour.”

At this point, Abernache interrupted with yet another rude comment and Faydren had to remind herself not to punch him despite how much he deserved it. Maybe after they recruited the Templars... Ser Barris shot the man a look but didn't respond (to his credit) and walked inside the gate.

They followed as he led them to a pulley system sporting three flags representing The People, The Maker, and The Order. Apparently the Lord Seeker wanted her to raise them in order of how she valued them. Abernache complained about the delay, but it didn't take long to make her decision.

Faydren raised the flag of The People – because in the end that was all she truly cared about; The Maker – because why would you rank The Order above that which it served; and The Order remained last.

“Traditionally, a participant in the rite now explains their choices to those assembled.,” Barris held a military posture while he spoke.

“Those are my choices. The rest is my own affair,” she didn't see how it was any of their business.

By this point, Faydren was certain that Abernache's entire existence revolved around being a complete ass. He complained about her choice while also throwing in a nice insult for the Templars. Then the fool began talking about his plans to bring the Order to heel. She felt her hand ball into a fist, but Varric nudged her. Iron Bull was trying not to smile too big as he watched her frustration. He was probably _hoping_ she'd lay the man out.

Finally they were shown into a room with a desk in the center – likely some sort of office – to wait for the Lord Seeker's presence. Faydren stood quietly with her arms crossed as Barris and Abernache continued to argue across the desk. Their discussion was interrupted by the sudden entry of more Templars from the other room. Ser Barris stopped mid-sentence.

“...Knight-Captain?” Clearly this was not the plan.

“You were expecting the Lord Seeker. He sent me to die for you.”

The man's voice had a cruel edge to it. Barris and Faydren exchanged an uncomfortable glance. The primping noble didn't seem to mind at all and immediately began trying to butter him up with praise and ego-stroking. The Knight-Captain laughed harshly, clearly unimpressed and telling them as much.

“Lord Abernache, it might be wise to give the Knight-Captain some distance,” Faydren could feel it… the corruption seeping into the room. She had no love for the noble, but that didn't mean he should die.

“You're a silver tongue. I won’t let you claim the knight _and_ his captain.”

She could feel the glow of building power in her eyes as they scanned the room’s newcomers. The men didn’t look right. They didn’t feel right. Energy began to crackle around her. The Knight-Captain was yelling now. That fool Abernache was going to get himself hurt.

“You were all supposed to be changed! Now we must purge the questioning knights!”

Arrows started flying. Lord Abernache’s head snapped back and he flopped to the floor, a shaft impaled through his mask. All around Faydren, the knights that were escorting them fell. Ser Barris raised his shield to block what he could and Solas cast a barrier. Iron Bull pushed in front of her while Varric readied Bianca. In seconds, the five of them were the only ones left standing. She looked at the carnage surrounding their little group and had a flashback to that day at the Circle.

“ _How dare you_ ,” her voice was ice.

Now she was pissed. Shoving past Bull, she slammed her staff blade down and lightning erupted across the room. The corrupted Templars had some resistance to magic, but the shock was enough to create an opening. Iron Bull and Ser Barris closed the gap to the archers and put them on the defensive. Varric loosed bolt after bolt as good shots became available. Flames from Solas engulfed the outliers and they screamed in panic and agony.

Faydren kept her eyes locked on the Knight-Captain, focusing her energy into a single large bolt as he attempted to charge. With a resounding _krak_ he stopped a mere foot away, paralyzed by the power surging through his body and armor. After a couple of seconds, he slumped to the ground. Though they had won this fight, the screams and shouts echoing just past the doorway said there was more to come.

“I’m surprised you didn’t kill him outright,” Solas commented from the side.

“I’m almost disappointed that I didn’t,” the cold reply got a concerned look from Varric.

They pressed on. Around every corner and through every door, they were met with more death and more fighting. Faydren kept her focus, crushing down the feelings building in her chest. They found the Knight-Vigilant’s rotting corpse and discovered that the Templar leaders had been corrupting the Order with red lyrium knowingly for a while now. She mentally cursed the pride of foolish men.

_Come to me, Herald of Andraste._

“Whose voice was that?” Faydren stopped and looked around.

“I didn’t hear anything, Boss,” Iron Bull looked at her curiously.

 _Show me what you are. Let me know you_ , the voice seemed to echo throughout her entire being. What was going on?

Walking up the stairs to the Great Hall, they spotted a figure standing before the doors. It looked like Lord Seeker Lucius, but his back was turned. He did not appear to be waiting for a fight. After a heated gesture conversation with her companions, Faydren approached slowly on her own. Before she could speak, the Lord Seeker whirled around and grabbed her arms in a vice-like grip. The sizable shock he got didn’t seem to faze him as he dragged her toward the doors.

“At _last_ ,” he said with a dark smile.

Faydren’s vision flashed white.

***

As her eyes refocused, Faydren found herself standing in a dark pillared hallway. Everything was hazy – it felt almost like the Fade, but she knew it wasn’t. Burning corpses like those at the Temple stood like statues all around. The wall behind her was solid, leaving forward as the only direction to go. Bracing herself, Faydren started walking.

In one moment, it felt like she’d walked a great distance, but also gone nowhere at all. The mage was startled as she suddenly came face to face with Cullen and Josephine. But at the same time it wasn’t them. The two stared at her with hollow eyes. A loud gasp caused her to jump back as Leliana came into view.

“ _Is this shape useful_ _?”_

“ _Will it let me know you?”_

“ _Everything tells me about you.”_

“ _So will this: Watch_ ,” the Leliana pressed her body to Cullen’s back, placing a blade gently against his neck.

“No!”

Faydren’s body reacted involuntarily, hand shooting forward as her chest tightened and her mouth went dry. But no magic came to her aid. Whatever this was, the Fade was beyond her reach. Leliana’s lips curved into a cruel smile.

“Stop this, demon,” Faydren tried to keep her voice from trembling. This wasn’t real. That wasn’t Cullen.

“ _Stop this, demon,_ ” her own voice bounced back from Leliana’s lips.

“ _Mmmm._ ”

Faydren watched helplessly as the blade sliced across Cullen’s neck - a spray of blackish red staining his face and armor as he slid to the ground. She blinked and they all vanished. Josephine’s voice taunted her from the shadows, the demon manifesting in various places to disorient her. It wanted to _be_ her. It would take her place just as it had the Lord Seeker's.

“ _I am Envy, and I will know you!_ ” Cullen’s voice snarled. “ _Tell me, 'Herald', in your mind. Tell me what you think!_ ”

Faydren turned to see him stabbing a shadow of herself. There was pure hate in eyes where she used to see warmth. Her shadow reached out to him pitifully, but he ignored it. The mage could almost feel the blade entering her back. Then the war table appeared, its map markers flaming as he stood across from her.

“ _Tell me what you feel!_ ”

Faydren spun toward a strangled cry from behind and saw herself, bleeding and reaching out. A blade appeared in her own hand and she dropped it like it was burning. Tears filled her eyes but she fought them back. She would not let it best her. This wasn’t real. They were all waiting for her to get back. She shut her eyes and pictured Varric and Iron Bull grinning; Solas and Vivienne debating; Cassandra sparring with Blackwall; Sera pranking Maryden; Josephine and Leliana gossiping. And Cullen…

“ _Tell me what you see._ ”

“End this pathetic nightmare, or fight me if you can!” Faydren shouted.

The demon cackled and opened the far wall’s door with a flash. It seemed the only way was forward... so she went.

 

All she wanted was to leave, but everywhere she turned the demon was taunting her – showing her what the Inquisition would be once it was in charge. Tyranny, death, destruction... it was nightmarish. Panic rose in her heart – what if she couldn't get out? What if it succeeded?

A new voice echoed through the haze.

“What happens to the hammer when there are no more nails?”

“ _What are you? Get out! This is my place!_ ”

There was no response. Faydren walked through a door into what appeared to be a bedroom. She heard the door shut behind her, but there was no one else in the room. There was also no other way out, so she opened the door again to leave.

“Wait,” the second voice spoke again. It seemed soft... kind. Faydren turned back to the empty room, curious and even a bit hopeful.

“Envy is hurting you. Mirrors on mirrors on memories. A face it can feel but not fake. I want to help. You, not Envy.”

The source of the voice appeared. It looked like a young man – pale, blonde, large watery blue eyes with hair falling into them, and an excessively large hat. Something about him looked familiar... No- felt familiar. But why?

“Who are you? I've seen you before. Have I?”

“I've been watching. I'm Cole. We're inside you. Or I am. You're always inside you.”

Every time he spoke, he reappeared somewhere different in the room – on the wall, on the ceiling, sitting on the bed-frame. He explained that in trying to help, he had managed to accidentally get inside her head. No noticeable time had passed outside. That was a relief since she had begun to worry how her friends were faring. She gained some other useful tidbits of information from him as well

Something about the boy made Faydren want to trust him. He seemed earnest and honestly wanting to help. And really, she hadn't been doing so well on her own. The two came up with the best plan they could – she would keep pushing Envy to show her more and eventually it may weaken the demon enough to allow her escape. With that in mind and a nice morale boost, Faydren continued on. The next door flashed open and she stepped through into a prison.

 

“ _Your allies will curse your name. Like the first Inquisition, you will bring blood, and ruin, and fear!_ ”  
“Unless you don't? You don't have to. None of this is real unless you let it be,” Cole's voice soothed.

“ _Get out, thing! I am learning!_ ”

“No one will think you're me, demon,” Faydren growled. The demon's laughter echoed all around.

“ _Do you your friends know you so well? Not as well as I'll know you..._ ”

That thought made her uneasy. Did her friends know her? Really know her? It seemed unlikely. She barely knew herself anymore. Not to mention, she had been trying so hard to keep them at arms length...

“Think sparks. Flame,” Cole advised her, waiting in one of the open cells.

A veilfire torch appeared in her hands. Faydren went into the guarded rooms, doing her best to ignore what was being said by the cell prisoners – her allies. Her friends. She hadn’t wanted them to be friends. It always hurt so much more that way. _Don’t stop moving… Just don’t stop moving_. Her veilfire lit each brazier and each guard ran out. Then at least the figments were silent and she could forget them.

Entering the last room, she slowed to a stop. Cullen was in the cell. Pale and emaciated, it looked as though he was slowly being starved to death. He was talking to the guard but his eyes were on her, spearing her with that gaze. Why did he have to hurt so much more than the others?

“Is it my turn to be branded a traitor for questioning what we've become?” He spat. “I deserve it... for letting her turn the Inquisition into a butcher’s pit!”

Faydren flinched, the words cutting deep. Then she lit the last brazier and an angry shriek filled the air.

“Keep going,” Cole encouraged. The next door opened.

 

The new world materialized, and Faydren readied her staff as two men near her transformed into Shades. She suddenly remembered that her magic was still not responding, but it didn't seem to matter. The Shades took up a position on either side of her and began following her everywhere – as though they were her minions. She overheard nearby voices discussing the Inquisition's demon army and nearly retched.

“Keep going up. You’re almost there,” Cole’s voice rang out confidently.

They were back at Therinfal and Faydren followed the stairways until she found herself walking up the Great Hall’s steps once more. Had she done it? Would this lead her out? Something brushed her back and she spun around, but the shadow self was already pushing. It was strong, slamming her against the doors and lifting her by the throat. She struggled to breathe.

“ _Unfair, unfair! That thing kept you whole, kept you from giving me your shape!_ ”

“What- could you gain- from being me?” Faydren choked out, darkness creeping into her vision.

“ _What could you gain-? Ugh! We'll start again. More pain this time. The Elder One still comes._ ”

The demon Herald’s hand glowed green as it gently ran its fingers along her face. The cold energy seeped into her skin and she felt the claws begin to dig further into her mind. The blackness in her vision was joined by green tendrils. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move.

“It’s frightened of you,” Cole appeared on the statue above her.

“ _Get out of_ - _!_ ” Envy turned to hiss at the spirit.

In that moment, Faydren felt a surge of power and confidence. She would not allow any of these events to happen. This was her head, and that thing could get the hell out. Slamming her arms down on its locked elbow, the grip on her throat released. Even as her feet hit the ground, she snapped her head forward into the creature’s face. It stumbled back, snarling.

“It should be frightened,” she said with deadly calm.

Faydren gripped its head in her palm and reached out with her spirit for the magic she knew was locked away somewhere. Her hand erupted into a storm of electricity that surged into the demon. Envy screamed and the world went white.

***

Varric wasn’t sure how he felt when Faydren approached the Lord Seeker by herself. It seemed like a bad idea. When the lunatic grabbed her and started pulling, it seemed like an even worse idea. He hadn’t even blinked when he found himself instead looking at possibly the most disturbing demon he’d ever seen – right where the Lord Seeker used to be. It crashed backwards _through_ the door, scrambling to get away from Faydren. Contorting itself to a standing position, it shrieked at her before launching past the demonic barriers in the Great Hall. None of them had even gotten a shot off in that time.

Running forward, Varric stopped next to Faydren. She was pale and sweating, eyes haunted by something none of them had seen. Ragged breathing accompanied shaking hands, white-knuckled as she gripped her staff. For a moment, he thought she was frozen like that. Then she blinked.

“Stormcloud?”

He touched her arm gently. The mage flinched away, but seemed to relax when she saw him. Relief filled her face. She swallowed once, slowly regaining color and breathing normally. Iron Bull and Solas were watching with equal concern.

“Varric?” Her voice was small and strained.

“You alright?” He could tell she wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Something clearly happened when he touched you. What was it?” Solas’ worry was matched only by his curiosity.

“I’ll give the quick version inside,” her voice was mostly back to normal.

Varric could see the emotional wall being built back up, little by little. Based on what he saw a moment ago, it was probably the only way she was still functioning right now. Faydren gave a firm nod - as much for herself as for them – and strode into the Great Hall to meet Ser Barris and the remaining Templars.

The Herald explained the situation. The man they had thought was Lord Seeker Lucius was actually an Envy demon who had stolen his identity, leaving the real Lord Seeker’s status unknown. The demon was working for something called The Elder One. It had been the one who introduced the red lyrium.

And it had tried to take her place too. Varric didn’t want to think about what that meant right now, but he was more than a little frustrated that she’d been forced to face it alone. Or mostly alone – she’d asked if they saw a young man with her. The dwarf hadn’t seen anything, but with all the weird shit going on he wasn’t going to question it.

According to Barris, if they could find the uncorrupted Templar lieutenants and bring the pure lyrium stores to the Great Hall, the Templars could bring down the barrier. Then the Envy demon would have nowhere left to hide. Tiny hated demons, but Varric noticed even he seemed to be all for cutting down the bastard. He also noticed that the Qunari refused to move outside arms reach of Faydren. _Good man_.

The remaining knights would have to stay and hold the Great Hall. That left the Herald’s group to get what was needed on their own. They moved to a door leading to the Officer Quarters. Faydren paused with one hand on the door and looked around at them. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was completely fine. But he did know better. Iron Bull grinned at her, Solas nodded, and Varric hefted his crossbow with a wink.

“Well, Bianca’s ready!”

She opened the door.

***

Corrupted Templars… People that weren’t people… Face-stealing demons (why did it have to be demons)… Iron Bull wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. Then again, Iron Bull didn’t much care. What he _did_ care about was that this Envy demon had done something to Faydren – and he’d make it pay for that.

Grabbing the lyrium and saving the missing lieutenants didn’t prove too difficult, and he was impressed at how long the Templars were able to hold that hall on their own. Now the knights were drinking the lyrium and said they’d need some time to build up their power for that barrier-busting trick. Bull watched as the room began to fill with more Red Templars and hoped they knew how to hurry.

Faydren hadn’t said much of anything after her quick explanation. He picked her out during the fighting every now and then to make sure she wasn’t in trouble. Right now she was pure focus and graceful fluidity as she alternated casting and staying out of melee range. Her battlefield awareness had improved significantly since the first time they’d met. The girl had natural talent.

It said a lot for her recruiting and companion choice that the four of them were skilled enough to hold off such a large force with minimal injury. They were beginning to tire though. Bull saw Varric over-rotate his escape backflip and land on his heels before falling on his ass. With a roar, the Qunari was able to distract the chasing swordsmen until the dwarf dropped into stealth. Barris needed to hurry up.

A loud whooshing pop echoed through the Great Hall and Bull crushed one last enemy before turning to see the barrier gone. Despite the apparent danger involved, it looked like Barris and the rest were just fine. They began taking over defending the hall again.

The Iron Bull took the steps two at a time, a savage grin on his face. That demon wouldn’t know what hit it. A cold breeze brushed his arm and he glanced down to find Faydren now walking at his side. Sweat coated her face, plastering down her bangs, and she seemed a bit pale. Her stride was strong though, and she had an expression of harsh determination. Those piercing grey eyes practically sparked. Solas and Varric fell in behind them as they approached the open shrine.

“ _I touched so much of you. But you are selfish with your glory. Now I'm no one._ ”

The voice had an otherworldly hollowness. It made Bull's skin crawl. So did watching the thing slide out of the ground, arms and legs moving at odd angles. He felt Faydren take a fearful step back, and put a reassuring hand on her head. She nodded and took a battle stance.

“Dark and desperate. Death to make yourself alive. I used to be like you,” the Qunari was surprised to see some kid in a floppy hat appear out of nowhere and speak to the demon. “I'm not anymore. You shouldn't be, either.”

“Cole!” Faydren's voice sounded relieved.

Envy gave a furious shriek before attacking. Hissing green projectiles launched from its hands. The barrier came up in time to block any the group was unable to dodge as Bull shouted a challenge and ran at the monstrosity. His swing missed as the slippery bastard dropped into some fade ground crap and reappeared near one of the railings instead. The Qunari growled. This was gonna be a pain in the ass.

If he could keep it focused on him and running, the others might be able to take it down with their ranged attacks. So far the bolts and magic didn't seem to be terribly effective, but nothing can take that kind of punishment forever. The random boy kept popping out and taking some chunks out of the thing as well.

Bull rushed at it again. This time Envy side-stepped as his greataxe sunk into the ground. Before he could take another swing, an ear-splitting shriek exploded in his head. He grunted and shut his eyes tightly as his worst fears flashed through his mind. It took him a moment to shove them away, and that was enough for Envy to lash out. Its bony arm was stronger than it looked and sent the big mercenary crashing into one of the monolithic red lyrium crystals growing in the courtyard.

It clambered toward him, about to make another attempt until a crossbow bolt glanced off the side of its head. Snarling at the source, it submerged itself again and erupted from the ground beneath Solas and Varric. The two were tossed aside like ragdolls and disoriented by the sudden impact.

If Faydren hadn't fade stepped towards Bull when he fell, she might have been caught in the attack too. Now Iron Bull saw her face fill with horror as Envy began its terror scream once more. The mage called a lightning bolt down on its head.

“Hey! Forget about me already after all that whining?!” Faydren taunted.

“Boss, no!”

The Qunari was still getting to his feet. She shouldn't be making herself a target with this thing. It was more powerful than he had expected. Even Pride Demons didn't give them this much trouble. It submerged and he saw a green glow surround Faydren for a moment. As the demon jumped up, she disappeared in a blue haze and reappeared on the other side of the courtyard before shooting more magic at its face. It shot the green missiles in return and they tracked her movements – right into the crystal she slid behind.

Bull grinned. Smart girl. Varric and Solas were back up and attacking while she darted around as a distraction. Bull attacked when he could, waiting for its back to be turned and then dodging away before it could use those radius attacks. The kid was doing the same. They were wearing the demon down.

“ _I know you better than you know yourself, Trevelyan!_ ”

It screeched angrily before diving yet again. Faydren fade stepped onto the dais, but this time the green glow stayed with her.

“Herald!” Solas shouted as she was launched backwards into the railing.

Envy didn't give her a chance to stand as it extended its freakishly long arms and grabbed her, lifting the mage high into the air. Faydren cried out in pain as it began forcing its hands together in an attempt to crush her. The bolts and fire pelting its back were ignored, but Bull saw his opportunity.

Rushing in, he took a mighty swing at the back of its leg where the skin was still singed. Whatever had been protecting it from the heavy hits seemed to be lacking there now. The demon dropped to its knees with a scream but didn't release its grip. Iron Bull was still leaning over from the swing and felt a foot land lightly on his back before pushing off again. He looked up in surprise. The kid with the big hat was balancing on Envy's shoulders – and both of his daggers were planted in its head.

With an angry moan, the demon disintegrated. Faydren fell to the ground, bruised and gasping for air but otherwise unhurt. The boy was gone too. There was a boy, right? Iron Bull frowned at his fuzzy memory. Varric helped the Herald to her feet once her breath was back.

“You know, Stormcloud? I'm pretty sure you're crazy,” he chuckled at her.

“Think so? You might be right.” It didn't sound like a joke.

“Well. Shall we do what we came here for?” Solas deftly turned the conversation.

“Oh,” Faydren almost seemed to have forgotten. “Yes, let's.”

 

The Templars came out to meet them on the walkway. They were tired and bloodied, but relief showed plainly in their faces and body language. Ser Barris approached Faydren with a bow.

“The Templars are ready to hear what the Inquisition needs of us.”

The mage looked thoughtful, taking a moment to gaze behind her at the sky where the Breach was plainly visible. Facing them and standing a little straighter, it was clear she'd made a decision.

“There was corruption here. But also I see valor, and honor in each of you who stood fast. Rise tall again. Help the Inquisition seal the Breach before it swallows us all.”

“You speak truths we never should have ignored,” Barris lowered his head in shame. “But the Order is leaderless, gutted by betrayal. We must rebuild it.”

“Your Order is a symbol that holds the people's respect. That cannot die today,” she extended a hand. “We offer you an alliance. All we ask is you help us close the Breach.”

“Do we take the Inquisition's terms, brothers and sisters?” Ser Barris asked his fellows with a smile.

They cheered wildly in response, and Bull felt himself grinning. The Boss did good. Solas looked displeased (or that was his normal look – it was hard to tell), and Varric just looked relieved it was over. The Qunari resisted the urge to reach over and ruffle Faydren's hair affectionately since it might ruin the epic moment. Either way, it was time to head back.

***

Faydren kept her eyes down as the war council discussed her results. Aside from Leliana, everyone seemed mostly happy with how it worked out. Some of her new information was unnerving though – the Elder One, demon armies, a possible assassination plot, red lyrium Templars... Solving one problem suddenly spawned a dozen more. But she wasn't really listening. Faydren was trying very hard not to listen or look at all, because when she did...

_Leliana slicing Cullen's throat._

_Josephine laughing demonically about stealing her face._

_Cullen stabbing her in the back._

_Cullen's eyes filled with hate._

_Cullen believing she was some evil tyrant..._

“...How soon until the Templar veterans arrive?”

There was an explosion of greenish smoke and Cole appeared crouched on the war table. The council staggered back, reaching for their respective weapons. Faydren's darker thoughts were somewhat soothed when she saw him.

“They're almost here,” he peered curiously at a map marker. “Templars don't like to be late.”

“Maker!” Cullen drew his sword and moved to stand protectively near the Herald.

“Wait!” Faydren finally spoke.

“I came with you to help. I would have told you before, but you were busy,” Cole looked at her apologetically.

“That's fine, Cole,” she looked pointedly at Cassandra and Cullen who still had their blades raised. “You just startled us, appearing out of thin air.”

“I wasn't air, I was here. You didn't see me. Most people don't until I let them.”

“Call the guards,” Cassandra ordered. “This creature is not what you-”

“A moment please, Cassandra,” Leliana looked amused. “I would like to hear why he came.”

“You help people. You made them safe when they would have died,” his voice was pleading. “I want to do that. I can help.”

“Cole saved my life in Therinfal. I couldn't have defeated Envy without him,” Faydren moved towards the boy protectively. “I think he really wants to help.”

“I won't be in the way,” Cole said excitedly. “Tiny, no trouble, no notice taken unless you want them to.”

“You're not honestly suggesting we give him run of the camp,” Cullen was incredulous.

“Not freely, perhaps,” Josephine was amused now too. “But it seems a waste to-”

“Where did he go?” Cassandra was immediately worried – Cole had vanished.

“I'm sure we'll find him somewhere,” Faydren began to feel anxious again and started a bit when she noticed Cullen's sword still out. He quickly sheathed it.

“We'll need your help when the Templar veterans arrive. Take time to prepare while you can,” he spoke softly.

“I will.”

Faydren still couldn't bring herself to look at them and hastily exited the room. She walked faster and faster, hoping to get to her room before anyone tried to stop her. She couldn't handle it right now. She just needed to think – to be alone. The door came into sight, and relief washed over her – until she saw the short figure waiting.

Varric smiled up at her, but she could see the concern in his eyes. There were too many feelings. She couldn't let them out right now, there was still too much to do. She needed to keep them in a while longer. They wouldn't need her to be strong once the Breach was closed. Faydren slowed to a stop in front of him.

“Hey, Stormcloud. I thought you might need to talk.”

“Not now, Varric,” she kept her voice void of emotion.

“You shouldn't keep it all bottled in like that. It's not healthy.”

She remained silent, her eyes cold as she moved past him to unlock the door.

“Faydren-”

“Varric!” It came out harsher than she intended, and it almost broke her right then. So she made the ice even thicker and gritted the last sentence out through her teeth. “I _don't_ want to talk about it.”

The silence behind her spoke volumes. Eventually he sighed and walked away. Faydren fumbled with the door handle and slid inside before gently closing and locking it. She pressed her back to the firm wood of the door and let herself slide down to the floor.

She sat there, knees pulled up to her chest and face buried in crossed arms. Darius' pendant was clutched tightly in one hand as her whole body began to shake. But there was no sound, no crying – just a trembling young mage curled up alone in the cold dark.

***

Cullen's head snapped up at the sound of the tavern door opening, hopeful. He smiled in relief and waved Varric over. The smile faded when he saw the dwarf's expression as he sat down and raised his hand to signal for a drink.

“Were you able to talk to her?” Cullen asked, though he already knew the answer.

“She shut me out hard,” he sighed. “And I think it hurt her more than it did me.”

“You should have seen the way she looked at us, Varric... At me,” Cullen frowned down at his drink. “There was so much pain and fear in her eyes. I can imagine what it must have shown her...”

“Look, Curly, whatever that demon chose to do wasn't your fault. It's not like you were the one there doing it.”

“I suppose that's true... But it doesn't make me feel any better,” he sighed heavily.

“You either, huh?” The rogue took a drink.

“We shouldn't have sent her.”

“You know there was nobody else who could have done it.”

“It just seems like we call on her to do everything with the most risk involved,” he raked a hand through his blonde locks.

“That's because we do,” Varric quipped.

“Not helping,” he paused. “I just wish there was a way I could help fix it.”

“Give her some time. The memory is still fresh, but it'll fade eventually. Then you can cover over it with some pleasant new ones.”

“Yes... that might be best,” Cullen finished off his drink and got to his feet. “Thank you, Varric.”

“Wish I could have done more, Curly,” he waved good night.

Cullen's brow was furrowed as he walked through the night back to his quarters. They say time heals all wounds, but he knew personally that wasn't always the case. He would just have to hope for now, and let her come to terms on her own.

The ramparts remained empty for the next few days.


	7. Flash Flood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After gaining the additional assistance needed, now it was time to close the Breach. This was what she was here for - what they had been working for since the Conclave. Once they succeeded, would she still be wanted?  
> More importantly... Would that be the end of their trouble?

The veteran Templars arrived and a few days later preparations were complete – the time had come to seal the Breach. Faydren had kept her distance from just about everyone since they got back from Therinfal, only occasionally seeking out Cole for quiet company. As they walked with her to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, it was strange to have them all so near once more. Strange, but not unwelcome.

The path was familiar, though last time the circumstances were quite different. Her alliance with the Seeker, Varric, and Solas had started as a necessity but now she couldn't imagine having come this far without them. She had met so many amazing new people. It was going to be sad to see them go...

Most of their entourage stayed near the entrance. Only Cassandra, Solas, and the Templars followed her to the Breach-rift itself. Solas shouted instructions to the knights, urging them to lend her their power. Faydren studied the green mark now crackling on her hand. It was a lot less foreign now after how many rifts she'd closed. The pain was still there when she used it, but not as bad. With training from Solas, she'd even been able to focus her power into it on occasion. Now was the culmination of that training.

With a rallying cry, Solas raised his staff in the air and the Templars dropped to one knee with swords planted in the ground. The air around them hummed with power and it washed over her like a wave. It wasn't quite like the power she normally dealt with as a mage, but similar enough for her to draw on it. Pushing against the green pulses of energy blasting out of the Breach's focal point, she got close enough to feel a connection before thrusting her hand upwards at it.

For a moment she felt nothing. Then her hand blazed with the agony of liquid fire running through her veins. The sensation crept up her arm all the way to the shoulder and she bit back a cry. The pain hadn't been this severe since the day she'd received the mark, but she could feel the Breach reacting. It was working. Faydren pulled at the residual power still swirling around her from the Templars. It was so close- Just a little bit more!

A blinding flash was followed by a massive shockwave and everyone tumbled to the ground. It was just like before – except this time, she had closed it completely. Cassandra rolled to her feet and pushed past the Templars to reach Faydren, who was kneeling down. Placing a hand on her shoulder gently, the Seeker couldn't help smiling.

“You did it.”

Cheers erupted from all around the Temple as those outside saw the signs of their victory as well. Faydren almost smiled herself, but her heart was sinking also. She did it. Everyone could be safe now. They could all go back to their lives. Nobody needed her anymore...

***

Back in Haven, the celebration began in earnest and went late into the night. There was laughter, dancing, drinking – it was refreshing to see the worry and constant fear gone from everyone's faces. Iron Bull and his Chargers were teaching everyone drinking games, Varric was telling thrilling stories, Sera was trying to get a prank war started - it was perfection.

Faydren stood in her usual spot on the ramparts, a slight smile on her lips as she watched the festivities from a distance. She spotted Cassandra coming her way and gave a slight nod as the Seeker joined her.

“Why do you not join them? You deserve this more than anyone,” her brown eyes were questioning.

“I like seeing them all happy. It's distracting to be in the middle of it,” Faydren shrugged.

Cassandra simply nodded before going quiet, both of them content to just watch in companionable silence for a few moments. The silence was shattered as alarm bells began to ring out across the settlement. Cullen's voice cut through above the din.

“Forces approaching! To arms!”

The joy from a moment ago turned to terror as people began screaming and running for shelter. Drinks were spilled, tables and chairs knocked over, and soon the site of the party was nothing more than a ghost town.

“What the...? We must get to the gates!”

Cassandra jumped down from the ramparts and sprinted the short distance to where Cullen was already standing. Faydren swiftly followed and the rest of the inner circle met there as well. Faces were concerned all around. Who would be attacking them now?

“Cullen?” The Seeker's voice was tense.

“One watchguard reporting. It's a massive force, the bulk over the mountain,” he gestured in that direction.

“Under what banner?” Josephine asked, clearly preparing for any diplomatic fallout.

“None,” was the confused response.

“None?” Josie blinked.

Faydren had moved past them, examining the gates intensely. She could feel magic. Something was happening on the other side. There was an orange flare of light and the rumbling sound of a small explosion as the gate doors shook on their hinges. Then there was silence. To her surprise, a muffled voice called out.

“If someone could open this, I'd appreciate it!” Its tone was surprisingly light considering the situation.

Narrowing her eyes, she pushed past the soldiers and swung the gates wide. A man with deeply tanned skin and jet black hair was kneeling on the ground in exhaustion. The area around him was littered with dead enemies. He planted his staff and used it to push himself up, revealing a decidedly handsome face with argent eyes and a well-groomed mustache. Faydren and Cullen ran toward him but stopped a couple feet away, uncertain. The mage smiled up at them weakly.

“Ah! I'm here to warn you. Fashionably late, I'm afraid.”

He managed to slip humor in, though Faydren couldn't fathom why. Standing to his full height, the man wobbled and then nearly fell down again. Cullen reached out to steady him.

“Mite exhausted. Don't mind me,” he pushed away from Cullen, this time standing more firmly. “My name is Dorian Pavus, and I bring grave news from Redcliffe – an army of rebel mages, right behind me.”

“The mages?” Faydren's heart sank. “But why?”

“They are under the command of the Venatori, in service to something called the 'Elder One',” Faydren flinched at the name as Dorian rotated to point at the hill behind him. “The woman is Calpernia. She commands the Venatori. For that-”

A monstrous humanoid figure stepped out of the mists.

“The Elder One.”

Faydren's heart was racing. It should be over. Everyone was supposed to be safe after she closed the Breach! Now there was an army of soldiers and mages marching toward them from all sides. Was she not allowed even a glimmer of hope anymore? Must everything she touched turn to dust?

“They were already marching on Haven. I risked my life to get here first,” Dorian was both defensive and apologetic.

“Cullen! Give me a plan! Anything!” Faydren locked down her rising fear. There had to be a way to get them through this.

“Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle,” he shook his head, thinking. “Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can!”

Drawing his blade, the Commander turned towards the Inquisition and began giving orders. Faydren watched him closely, admiring his leadership and how much loyalty and respect his soldiers clearly gave him. The man was made for leading warriors into battle.

“Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!”

The battle cry sent chills down her spine and the assembled soldiers cheered, banging swords on shields. Adrenaline started pumping and the air crackled with energy as her eyes began to glow. Faydren realized that her friends had moved to stand with her - and it gave her strength. She turned to face the enemy without fear.

She'd kill them all herself if she had to.

***

Dorian watched her with curiosity. The 'Herald of Andraste' wasn't at all what he expected. When people spoke of her they'd describe some tall, stoic woman with the kindness of a saint and an air of graceful dignity. There was also mention of shining armor, a white horse, a glimmering halo… all the clichés one could think of really.

What he _saw_ was a slight girl with ice in her gaze who couldn't be more than twenty-five. She definitely stood out with that short white hair and dark olive skin – he might use the term 'exotic' himself. Coming from Tevinter he was no stranger to mages and their quirks, but even he was surprised when the magic manifested itself in her eyes. That was a new one.

She wore a dark leather half-jacket with some chainmail at the shoulders and simple carmine clothes underneath. There was metal plating on her thigh-high boots as well as key spots on her arms and gloves. It was more practical for fighting and traveling than the usual mage robes, and she wore it well.

After using up most of his energy to get there, Dorian couldn't contribute much to the fighting aside from the occasional barrier cast on nearby troops. From the looks of it, they were handling themselves quite well without him. There was a dwarf with a repeating crossbow skirting the edges of the fighting and making every shot count; a bald elf throwing barriers and fire magic with equal skill; some boy that didn't quite feel like a boy as he flickered in and out of perception, daggers finding their marks; a ferocious dark-haired woman who fought like a Templar; and lastly, a large Qunari who stayed near the Herald like a mother bear guarding its cub while his greataxe crushed the attackers in droves.

None of them made for quite the sight that she did though. Eyes glowing, hair floating unnaturally, electricity sparking all around her as she rained down lightning on her enemies– the woman looked like a force of nature. Sometimes she didn’t appear to be casting at all, yet the electrical storm remained. It was strange to see so much raw power expelled with such little focus, but emotions were a strong motivator. And she was furious.

Dorian could see why, too. Every Inquisition soldier that fell caused her pain and it only fueled her rage. There was no way that she personally knew all of these people, but she was taking each of their deaths to heart. Another thing he didn't expect from her.

“Somebody man the trebuchet!”

He was too far away, but the Herald clearly heard the call as well. She stopped casting and sprinted for the unmanned siege weapon. It was obvious that she'd never really used one, but if everything else was ready she just needed to crank it. Dorian blocked a blade with his staff. He needed to pay more attention to his own situation... With a grunt, he kicked the man away and blasted a fireball at his face. The soldier screamed and dropped to the ground, but Dorian was in no shape to stay any longer. Breathing heavily, he worked his way towards the gate.

The sound of the trebuchet firing snapped into the night, followed by a deep rumbling that shook the ground itself. Dorian glanced behind in surprise to see an avalanche race down the mountain, crushing the enemies in its path. For a moment, there was silence. Then the Inquisition soldiers started cheering. That may have just turned the tide of battle in their favor.

The moment was short-lived as a howling roar echoed through the mountains. There was the crash of breaking wood as the trebuchet was blasted to nothing but splinters by a fireball the size of a small house. The earth around Dorian was cast into darkness by a large winged shadow.

“Dragon,” he breathed.

***

Faydren had barely gotten away from the trebuchet before it exploded into fiery ruin. She staggered to her feet, coughing as the acrid smoke seared her lungs. The others were slowly regaining their footing as well and she was relieved to see no one seriously injured. Well, no one except the Inquisition soldiers scattered across the ground... Their reflexes weren't fast enough. They'd been too excited about the avalanche.

Clenching her jaw, she moved past the corpses. There was nothing she could do for them now. They needed to get back to the gates. With that thing around, staying to fight in the open would be suicide. What _was_ it? Could the enemy actually be controlling a dragon?

Cullen was waiting at the gates, ushering everyone inside before slamming them shut. It wouldn't do much good, but at this point anything helped. He shouted for everyone to get to the Chantry. It was the only building that might hold against an assault by the creature. Something slammed against the gate and it was time to move.

“Stormcloud, let's make sure the village is clear,” Varric was panting.

“I agree. We don't want anyone caught outside when the enemy breaks through in force.”

They swept the town, cutting down any advance enemy forces that had made it through. The decision proved to be a good one, and they saved many more of Haven's residents from the wreckage before sending them to the Chantry. The gratitude on their faces as they looked to their rescuers was all the reward she needed.

Most of the buildings had been checked and they were fighting more Venatori when Faydren heard a cry for help from the tavern. The building was barely standing and flames belched out from the windows. She could just make out the woman struggling under a piece of fallen roof.

“Flissa!” Faydren cried before fade stepping to the door.

The others could handle the Venatori, but the building might fall and crush the barkeeper at any moment. Coughing and trying to keep low, Faydren moved to the woman's side and began tossing the debris off her legs. Flissa looked at her with surprised watery eyes.

“Herald?” She coughed repeatedly, putting a hand on Faydren's shoulder. “Please go! They need you!”

The mage frowned at her disapprovingly and kept working. The attempt at selflessness was noble, but unnecessary. The building creaked dangerously and she worked faster. Flissa was almost free. With a whooshing snap, part of the ceiling caved in. Faydren threw herself over Flissa and shut her eyes tightly.

A cloud of dust and a couple splinters fell on her but nothing else. She rolled over to find herself staring up at The Iron Bull. Blood was running down his face, and she could see the burns on his arms and shoulders. The pieces of ceiling fell on either side of him as he smiled down at her painfully. Damn that Qunari... Tears filled her eyes but she swiped them away with a sooty hand. Getting to their feet, Bull quickly picked up Flissa and the three of them exited what was left of the tavern.

“That's everywhere! Now I think it's our turn to head for the Chantry,” Varric said with relief.

 

The Chantry doors opened as they approached, Chancellor Roderick ushering them in. Faydren stopped as the cleric began to fall, but Dorian stepped up to catch him instead. Apparently the man had actually tried to stand against one of the Venatori soldiers – brave, but foolish. The rest of her group went further in to assist with whatever they could as Cullen approached.

“Herald! Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us,” he raked a frustrated hand through his hair. “There has been no communication, no demands. Only advance after advance.”

“There was no bargaining with the mages, either,” Dorian joined the conversation. “This Elder One takes what it wants. From what I gathered in Redcliffe, it marched all of this way to take your Herald.”

The words struck Faydren like a blow. All of this death and destruction... just to reach her? She would have offered herself gladly to prevent this attack. But it was too late now.

“I don't care what he wants,” she fumed. “How do I stop him?”

“Trust me, that is not information I would keep to myself,” Dorian snapped before his gaze softened. “And such a promising start with the landslide. If only trebuchets remained an option.”

“They are,” Cullen clearly had a thought. “If we turn the last of them to the mountains above us.”

“We're overrun,” Faydren was confused. “To hit the enemy, we'd bury Haven.”

“This is not survivable now,” his face was grim. “The only choice left is how spitefully we end this.”

Dorian got to his feet and began arguing with Cullen. Faydren stopped listening as her mind went spinning. It was happening again. History seemed doomed to repeat itself. First the Circle, now Haven. She was going to lose everything again... Everyone.

“There is a path,” Roderick spoke from where Dorian had sat him down. “You wouldn't know it was there unless you'd made the summer pilgrimage. As I have. The people can escape.”

The three of them stared at him in shock, a small glimmer of hope returning.

“She must have shown me,” he rasped. “Andraste must have shown me so I could... Tell you.”

This was it. This was their chance, and she'd do anything to make sure it succeeded.

“If that thing is here for me, I'll make him fight for it,” she growled.

“And when the mountain falls? What about you?” Cullen's voice was strained.

Faydren turned away, eyes sad as she remained silent. She couldn't look at him, couldn't face the pain she knew she'd find. Nobody would say it, but all of them knew- she wouldn't be able make it out in time. Cullen exhaled a ragged breath.

“The trebuchets are already loaded, but you'll need to turn it. Keep the Elder One's attention until we're above the tree line.”

“Cullen, I need you to promise me something,” Faydren's violet-ringed eyes were intense as she faced him.

“If it’s within my power, I’ll do it.”

“You can’t let them follow me. Make sure they escape with the rest.”

This was what she wanted – what she needed. This was _not_ the Circle, and _nobody_ would be dying for her this time. Cullen seemed about to argue, but thought better of it. His voice was solemn and quiet as he responded.

“I will try. What am I supposed to tell them?”

“Whatever it takes,” Faydren headed for the exit, pausing as he spoke once more.

“If we are to have a chance - if _you_ are to have a chance - let that thing hear you.”

She felt his eyes until the Chantry doors closed behind her. And then she simply felt peace... It was her turn to keep them safe.

***

Cullen made sure everyone else made it into the secret path before entering himself and shutting the door, locking it tight. He nearly stumbled into Varric, Iron Bull, Solas, and Cole as he moved to continue down the path. They eyed him with confusion.

“Have you seen Stormcloud? I thought she was talking with you,” Varric queried.

“She was, but she already left. Did you need her for something pressing or could you help transport these wounded?” He gestured to the many makeshift stretchers lining the path.

“Well if you’re sure she made it in…” Iron Bull said reluctantly.

“I can help,” Cole said hopefully and immediately set to work. Varric followed him, eyes still worried.

Solas searched the blonde man’s face at length before giving a slight nod and moving to join the others. Cullen clenched his fists so hard that he felt his knuckles go white. He hated tricking them… but he would keep his promise. For her.

Dorian put a reassuring hand on Cullen’s shoulder, compassion in his eyes. Right. They needed to reach the tree line. Switching into his leadership role, the Commander of the Inquisition began getting his people to safety.

 

Cullen looked down into the valley. Nobody could see her from this distance, but he tried anyway. He had waited until everyone moved further up the path before stopping out of view. They were above the tree line now like he’d said. If the trebuchet was to be fired, this was the time. He swallowed hard. This wasn’t how he wanted it to be…

“Dorian.” The dark-skinned man had stayed behind with him. “Can you- give the signal?”

“Of course,” there was no witty pith in his voice now, only solemn understanding.

The mage focused intently, a ball of fire slowly growing between his hands. When it had reached a considerable size, he launched it into the sky. It went higher than the Templar had expected and hung in the air for a moment before slowly descending and fizzling into nothing. It was done.

“Cullen? What was that?”

He turned to find the Herald’s closest companions all standing there, waiting for his reply. The Commander could not meet their gaze. A great rumbling filled the air behind him and he knew the avalanche had begun. She’d made it that far at least. Realization dawned on the assembled group.

“You lied to us!” Bull snarled, lifting Cullen by the front of his armor and slamming his back against a tree so hard that his teeth rattled.

“You sent her out there against that thing? _Alone_?” Varric was shocked, his face paling.

The former Templar remained silent, still pinned to the tree by Bull. Nothing he could say would make any of them feel better. A part of him actually wanted someone to punch him. It couldn't make him any more miserable than he already felt.

“Was this your doing?” Cassandra stared daggers at Dorian, unsheathing her blade as she approached him.

“What? No, I-” the Tevinter mage backed away slowly. Imminent confrontation was interrupted by a soft voice.

“Twisting, turning, chest tightening into a knot. The lie ate away at your insides,” Cole had moved to Cullen, peering at him closely. “Mustn’t tell. They mustn’t follow. She made me promise.”

“There was no way we would have left otherwise,” Solas added quietly, clearly not surprised.

“You mean Boss...?” Bull's eye narrowed. “When I get my hands on that girl, I-”

The mercenary growled in frustration and released Cullen before storming off. The Templar didn't have time to catch his footing and fell to a sitting position at the base of the tree. He sat there forlornly, not bothering to get up.

“She made you promise, huh?” Varric's voice caught a bit. “Of course she did...” The dwarf walked away slowly, his shoulders sagging.

“We'll send out search parties every hour. I do not believe she would fall so easily,” Cassandra glared at Dorian once more before stiffly following Varric, her jaw clenched tightly.

“They don't blame you,” Cole told Cullen. “Not really. But it hurts them. Like it hurts you. I'm- not sure how to help.”

“Come, Cole. Give them time for now,” Solas motioned for him to follow.

Cullen still sat silently against the tree, his eyes glued to the snow. They might forgive him eventually... But he wasn't sure he'd forgive himself. Varric was right. She shouldn't have had to face it alone. Yet he also knew that Faydren would never have forgiven him if any of them had died because of her.

“Maker's breath,” he sighed.

The sound of footsteps approaching crunched in the snow. He’d thought everyone had left, but a hand reached down tentatively. Cullen glanced up to see Dorian attempting a comforting smile. It didn't really help, but he took the hand nonetheless and the mage helped him to his feet. The two quietly walked to catch up with the others.

“She really means a lot to you all, doesn't she?” Dorian broke the silence. “Not just as the Herald of Andraste.”

“Yes...” Cullen wasn't sure how or when it happened. But Faydren meant a lot more than that...

***

She felt like she was falling. Or maybe floating. Which was it? Everything was black. Was she dead? It didn’t feel like death. Just… empty. Dreaming? Yes. That seemed right. She could feel her magic.

Something tickled at her senses. Turning without turning, she saw three pairs of eyes moving as one. They were looking for her. Then, looking _at_ her. A voice echoed through the darkness. _Wake up_

Faydren woke with a start, immediately crying out. Her body felt bruised and broken all over, and there was a sharp pain in her side. Her eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness and revealed an icy cavern.

The avalanche. She hadn’t known about this place, but when she saw the hole as the mountain came down it seemed like her best chance. She was alive, so there was that. Whether or not she stayed that way was another matter entirely.

Staggering to her feet, Faydren clutched the wound on her left side. A frozen pool of blood marked where she fell. The cold had slowed her bleeding to more of an oozing, but enough had been lost that her head was fuzzy. Her body was heavy with an icy numbness. How long had she been here? It didn’t matter. Faydren lifted one foot, then the other, forcing her body to move toward the only open path. Hopefully it led outside.

Time blurred as she hovered on the edge of consciousness, but eventually she saw the exit. Taking an excited step forward, she halted as a demon rift opened in the center of the cavern. Her heart plummeted. In her condition, there was no way she could battle demons. The faceless wraiths stared for a moment before they launched hissing green energy at her.

Instinctively, she raised her left arm to guard her face. The anchor crackled, and a second rift appeared near the first – but this one was pulling in instead of out. The projectiles disintegrated in the pull, and the demons shrieked as their essence was sucked away. Faydren blinked. The mark must have changed when he tried to take it from her.

Stepping out of the cave, the mage was struck by a new wave of hopelessness. It was a snowstorm. Even if she knew which direction they’d gone, she could barely see two feet ahead and had no clue where _she_ was. The wind was biting and passed through her clothes like nothing. This armor wasn’t made for mountain travel.

A wolf howled in the distance. Faydren grit her teeth and moved toward the sound. She couldn’t just wait there, or her death was a certainty. That howl made for as good a direction to start as any. Snow fell. She walked.

The snow eventually stopped. Her ragged breath came out in crystalline puffs and she no longer felt the wind on her frozen skin. By all rights she shouldn’t be able to move, but her legs kept going by sheer force of will. She needed to see them. She had to know they were safe. And she needed to warn them.

“There she is!” The woman’s voice was familiar.

“Thank the Maker.” She recognized that one too. He sounded relieved.

They were here. They were safe. With a peaceful smile, Faydren collapsed into the snow. Strong arms encircled her, lifting her. They were so warm. She gazed up at the face close to hers. Those soft golden eyes – she remembered their warmth too. Faydren wanted to look at them forever, but her eyes slid closed.

***

Solas was the one who told them. Apparently the elf had set up wards in a large perimeter around their camp to give advance warning if the enemy found them. But he said the wards detected only one - a lone individual slowly making its way through the snow.

Cullen hadn’t waited, dropping everything and dashing in the direction Solas indicated. Cassandra had heard as well and kept pace with him. The others were already out searching, but these two had stayed behind to plan their next move. And now they were running, daring to wish for something beyond all hope.

When he saw her standing there, wind playing through her silvery hair in the moonlight… The feelings filling his chest had no description. She smiled, and his heart skipped a beat. But something was wrong. Her eyes glazed over and Cullen saw her fall.

He lunged forward, kneeling in the snow and gathering Faydren into his arms. It felt as though he might break her with the slightest pressure. Her lips were blue and every inch of exposed skin was coated with frost. There was red on the snow where she fell, and her right hand shone wet with blood. Cassandra ran ahead to find the healers as Cullen picked his way quickly and carefully through the drifts.

Murmurs and gasps swept across the camp as they became aware of what he carried. More than a few people began praying fervently. The Commander ignored them, heading straight for his own tent – it afforded more privacy than the makeshift infirmary, and more room for the healers to work. He laid Faydren gently down on the cot and moved out of the way as physicians and mages examined her condition, speaking in hushed tones. Knowing his presence would only be a distraction, Cullen stepped back out into the night.

 

He paced outside the tent anxiously. It had been hours, and nobody had given him more than a ‘We’re doing all we can’. Cullen wanted to yell at them that that wasn’t good enough, but he knew it would just be taking out his frustration on the wrong target.

“Where?” A voice barked from the edge of camp.

Leliana had sent scouts to retrieve the search parties. They must have traveled a great distance if they were just getting back now. Iron Bull stormed around the corner and made for the tent flap. Cullen stepped in front of him. The Qunari gave him a hard look before backing down.

“Is it true?” Varric was breathless as he trotted up behind Bull.

“Yes. She’s here,” Cullen could barely believe it himself. “With the shape she was in, I don’t know how she made it.”

“Are they…?” Bull finally spoke, motioning to the tent. Cullen nodded.

“With the mages and the traditional healers, I have faith they will keep her with us.”

The Qunari and dwarf exchanged relieved smiles. Since there was nothing more to do except wait, they left to warm up and get some sleep. It was something Cullen should probably do as well, but he was reluctant to leave his position. Whatever the night held, he would not let Faydren be alone this time.

 

Once she was well enough, each of her companions stopped by at some point or another. The physicians kept them from staying long for fear of wearing her out. Iron Bull spent most of his time threatening her with violence for leaving him behind, though she could tell he’d just been worried. Varric was relaxed and jovial, coming up with funny stories to tell. Dorian managed to dig up scandalous gossip around camp that -for some unknown reason- he thought she’d want to hear. Cassandra sat down and read next to her while she thought Faydren was sleeping. Solas discussed magic and the Fade – something about his eyes nagged at a fuzzy memory. Cole was always popping in and out, sometimes startling the other visitors. The rest merely checked in on her, relief obvious on their faces. It was touching that they were all so concerned.

Cullen came by one of the few times Faydren was alone, sitting on a stool that had been placed by the cot. She’d been meaning to speak with him privately.

“I haven’t gotten the chance to thank you,” her voice still cracked a bit. He raised an eyebrow. “For keeping your promise.”

“It was the least I could do,” he replied modestly.

“I’m sorry, Cullen…”

“What?” His brow knitted in confusion.

“Cole told me the others were angry with you,” guilt filled her eyes. “I didn’t realize. I-”

Cullen held up a hand to stop her.

“I need to have a talk with that boy later…” he grumbled before looking at her earnestly, his honey-colored eyes intent. “You don’t need to apologize. Not to me, or anyone. You’ve earned that much. Now rest.”

The ex-Templar gave her a crooked grin and warmth spread through her chest. Faydren relaxed and found herself smiling back, eyelids growing heavy. She _was_ still tired. Cullen stood to leave. She refused to let her eyes close until the tent flap closed behind him.

***

The sound of shouting woke her. The voices were easily identified as Cullen, Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra. Faydren kept her eyes closed. She’d insisted on being moved to the regular infirmary tent once she no longer needed constant attention. Her body still ached and a chill stuck with her, but they were certain her life was no longer in danger.

The council hadn’t stopped arguing since she first woke up and told them what she’d learned – about the anchor in her hand and its purpose, about Corypheus and his claims – all of it. With no base of operations, the Inquisition was in shambles. They were barely scraping by in their little tent village. But they were safe. And that had been enough for her.

Opening her eyes reluctantly, Faydren carefully raised herself up on one elbow to look across the camp at the argument. Mother Giselle was seated nearby and tried to convince her to keep resting. She ignored the suggestion.

“They've been at it for hours,” Faydren sighed.

“They have that luxury, thanks to you. The enemy could not follow. And with time to doubt, we turn to blame.”

“If they're arguing about what we do next, maybe I should help?”

“I do not think adding another voice will help. Even yours. Perhaps especially yours...” The Revered Mother seemed thoughtful. “Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw out defender stand – and fall. And now we have seen her return.”

“It's not like I died...”

“True. But the more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear, and the more our trials seem ordained,” she paused, eyes focused on the mage. “That is hard to accept, no? What we have been called to endure? What we, perhaps, must come to believe?”

“Whatever the rest of you say, I felt no divine aid at the Conclave or Haven,” Faydren's voice was bitter. “The struggle ahead seems mine alone…”

She got to her feet painfully and limped through the camp. It was nice to get off her back finally. A wave of dizziness hit and she steadied herself against a tent pole. Maybe it was too soon to get up after all.

The council had stopped arguing, splitting to brood individually instead. Faydren wished she had some way to remove the frustration and uncertainty plaguing them. But what could she do?

A voice began singing behind her, and she blinked in surprise. Faydren didn’t know the words, but the melody… Darius used to hum it. Any time he had wanted to comfort her but couldn’t find what to say, he would simply hold her and hum that song. She felt the tears but pushed them back. It wasn’t time yet.

Mother Giselle moved to stand by her, still singing as Leliana joined in. Faydren watched in amazement as the entire camp began to sing, their voices ringing out into the clear night and filling the very air with hope. It gave her chills.

They kept going but Mother Giselle paused, smiling softly.

“Faith may have yet to find you. But,” she motioned to the men and women surrounding them. “It has already found them.”

***

It had been a long way and the terrain was not friendly, but it was worth it. Faydren’s mouth dropped open and her eyes grew wide with wonder when she first spotted the fortress nestled on the mountainside. Solas called it Skyhold, and the name somehow fit perfectly.

Forgetting to wait for the rest of the Inquisition, Faydren darted down the steep incline and rushed toward their new home. Solas watched in amusement. She looked just like a child as she sprinted gleefully, barely stopping to catch her breath before regaining the pace. Varric stepped up next to the elf and chuckled.

“You couldn’t have told her that it’s a lot farther away than it looks?”

“I was not given the chance,” Solas smiled.

“The healers are gonna be pissed if she opens up that wound again.”

“Indeed.”

Slowly but surely, the Inquisition made its way to their new base of operations. Everyone seemed more than happy with the accommodations, though it definitely needed some work as the walls were crumbling in a few places. Overall, the fortress was beautiful and just what they needed.

 

Faydren stepped outside after her explorations to find the council talking quietly and excitedly among themselves. That in itself should have set off warning signals. They spotted her and smiled conspiratorially before breaking off. Cassandra waved her over. The two walked together with the Seeker leading as she discussed what had happened and how they might proceed next now that Corypheus saw them as a threat.

“Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are the creature's rival because of what _you_ did,” they were walking up the main stairway now. “And we know it - all of us.”

Faydren froze at the last step. Leliana stood on the landing overlooking the courtyard, head lowered as she held out a magnificent sword. The mage's eyes darted around as she tried not to panic. If they were doing what she thought they were doing... Were they completely insane?

“The Inquisition requires a leader. The one who has already been leading,” Cassandra smiled slightly. “You.”

The courtyard was filled with people. Everyone who had escaped Haven stood watching, waiting for her answer. She spotted Cullen and Josephine near the front of the crowd looking at her with encouraging expressions. Faydren considered Cassandra's words carefully. In a way, she was right. How had that happened? Without knowing it – or wanting it – she had been taking charge. Doubt still wormed at her mind.

“Perhaps I didn't hear you correctly... a _mage_ at the head of the Inquisition?”

“Not a mage. _You_ ,” the Seeker's words meant more than she could possibly imagine.

“I happen to be a mage,” Faydren needed to be certain they truly wanted this. That they were ready for the consequences.

“I will not pretend no one will object,” she admitted. “But times are changing. Perhaps this is what the Maker intended. There would be no Inquisition without you. How it will serve – how you lead – that must be yours to decide.”

Faydren eyed the sword in Leliana's hands. She was a noble by blood; a mage by birth; the 'Herald of Andraste' by circumstance. But now... now she could be something by choice. Maybe it was possible. Maybe she could lead the charge to help fix the broken world so it would never hurt anyone the way it had hurt her.

In reality, that was probably impossible... But Maker, she wanted to try. Grasping the sword's hilt tentatively, she raised it from Leliana's hands and focused on the shining blade. Her voice held a steely determination as she spoke.

“Corypheus will never let me live in peace. He made that clear. He intends to be a god – to rule over us all. Corypheus must be stopped.”

“Wherever you lead us-” Cassandra let the statement hang in the air, yelling out to Josephine. “Have our people been told?”

“They have,” Josephine beamed. “And soon, the world!”

“Commander,” the Seeker shouted again. “Will they follow?”

“Inquisition!” Cullen grinned widely and turned to address the assembled group. “Will you follow?”

The crowd roared in approval.

“Will you fight?” He raised his hands, pausing to build the anticipation.

“Will we triumph?” The crowd roared even louder.

“Your leader... Your Herald...” Cullen drew his sword, turning and raising it to her in victorious salute as he shouted the words.

“Your Inquisitor!”

The crowd's excitement was contagious, and there was no hesitation as she raised her sword in return. The response was deafening. Faydren felt a surge of pride and joy as she heard it. They believed in her? All of them? Cullen's eyes twinkled as he gave her a nod of respect, Leliana and Cassandra smiled approvingly, and Josephine let out a whooping cheer that seemed to startle even her.

In that moment, Faydren was happier than she'd been in a long time.

***

That night there was a huge celebration, both for Skyhold and for their new Inquisitor. However the latter seemed to be missing. Varric needed a break from the storytelling he inevitably got drawn into (every damn time), and he wanted to see how Faydren was doing. After the initial speeches, nobody had seen her or where she went. They weren’t worried though and were certain she must be off merry-making somewhere. Varric checked the obvious places and every person he knew she might celebrate with, but no dice.

_Try the ramparts._

The thought appeared in his head as if by magic. Now why didn't he think of that? The dwarf paused. But didn't he just-? Ah. A smile played at his lips as he ascended Skyhold. It made sense that she'd be up here. It was her favorite thinking spot in Haven too after all.

Reaching the top of the gate tower, he spotted her. Faydren was curled up in a sitting position with her back against the battlements and her forehead pressed against her knees. Some might have thought she was praying or sleeping, but he knew better. He approached slowly and dropped down to sit next to her.

“Hey there, Stormcloud,” his voice was soft and comforting.

Faydren raised her head in surprise, tears streaming down her cheeks. When she realized it was just him, her face crumpled and the tears fell faster. She spoke, and the vulnerability in her voice was so raw it hurt his heart.

“Varric...”

The dam had finally broken completely. The young mage threw her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder, great wrenching sobs wracking her body. All the pain and hurt and sadness that had been building up since he'd met her flooded out like a tidal wave. He didn't say anything. Just sat there embracing her with one hand resting on her head.

 

Faydren had cried herself to sleep, head resting on Varric's lap with her body curled up next to him. He continued to sit, stroking her hair absentmindedly. Once he knew she wouldn't be waking up for a while, his eyes traveled to a dark area of the ramparts.

“Thanks, Kid,” he said quietly. Cole materialized from the shadows.

“You saw me?”

“No. I thought you might be there,” Varric grinned.

“Oh. Why is that?”

“Because you're the one who told me to come up here.”

“Yes,” Cole tilted his head curiously, but didn't ask how Varric knew. “Faydren was hurting. I wanted to help. But I couldn't be what she needed. So I found someone who could.”

“You can see people hurting?”Varric knew Cole had some sort of mental connection, but he hadn't yet delved into what it was.

“Scars over scars. Ice packed so tightly that it only created more cracks. The wound was poisoned. She had to tear it open to let it heal.”

“Sounds about right,” the dwarf sighed, glancing down. Faydren looked more peaceful now than he'd ever seen her. Hopefully after this she'd be able to move past the pain and focus on other things... A certain blonde ex-Templar maybe? Varric chuckled to himself. That one might be a ways off.


	8. Echoes of Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the loss at Haven, it was going to take time for the Inquisition to rebuild. In the meantime, there were still matters that required attention.

Dorian took a step forward and grimaced as his boot sunk down to the ankle in oozing mud. Yanking his leg back up and hopping a little, he tried to shake the muck off before setting it on firmer ground. Noticing the others outdistancing him, the Tevinter squelched along quickly to catch up.

The Fallow Mire was far from being a prime destination. It was cold, damp, rainy, muddy, and altogether unpleasant. They were trudging along at night, which just added an extra air of creepiness to the place. Not to mention, he had nearly been struck by lightning – twice!

“So. Nobody else we could have sent on this lovely endeavor then?” Dorian quipped.

“Well the Avvar did say they wanted to fight _me_ ,” Faydren shot him a look over her shoulder.

Her response was said matter-of-factly, but Dorian caught the underlying bite. She was taking the capture of these soldiers personally. He shook his head and smiled. It was foolish for someone in her position to be so invested in the individuals. It was also one of the reasons he quite liked her.

“Besides,” she continued, unfazed by the large puddle she strode though as Dorian skirted around it. “You’re the one who agreed to come.”

“Ah. So I did. Silly me.”

In truth, he had jumped at the chance to get out of Skyhold for a while. His accommodations were passable, and he’d even found a nice spot to place a comfy chair for reading. However it hadn’t escaped his notice that most people avoided interacting with him. While Dorian was used to being a pariah, it could definitely become tiresome. Even the advisers seemed reticent when they spoke to him (though at least they were polite about it). Distrust of Tevinter ran deep in Southerners – especially when it came to Tevinter mages.

Needless to say, he was more than a little surprised when the newly-named Inquisitor came to see him herself soon after they arrived in Skyhold. She’d wanted to thank him for the warning at Haven. The message could have easily been delivered by a runner or one of the advisers, but that didn’t seem to have even occurred to her.

Even after she thanked him, Faydren had stayed. Her demeanor was guarded, but no more than it was with everyone else. The girl seemed quite content just chatting with him and asking questions with genuine curiosity. Dorian saw the looks they'd gotten from passersby but if the Inquisitor had noticed, it didn’t show. Up to that point, he’d begun to doubt there was a place for him in the Inquisition – but she was changing his mind. The whole damn movement could hate him if they wanted, as long as their Inquisitor's opinion remained positive.

After that, he looked forward to every time she stopped by. It was rare to find someone willing to accept him without preconceptions. Any day, he expected the advisers to warn her away from him as a bad influence or because of rumors. Yet Faydren continued to return. When she asked if he was interested in accompanying her on a mission, Dorian was more than happy to oblige – both for her, and to get a break from the rest of the Inquisition.

And thus, he was here. In the dark and rain. Hoping to avoid running into the undead that Scout Harding mentioned. Varric and Iron Bull had been chatting occasionally but both were quiet for the moment. Dorian liked Varric. The dwarf had a sharp mind and a quick tongue, making him an excellent match of wits. He was also surprisingly insightful.

As for the Qunari, Dorian was still unsure how to feel about him. Their people didn’t exactly have an amiable relationship… But Bull was fiercely protective of Faydren, and the Tevinter could respect that. He also had muscles. Lots of muscles. Why didn’t the fool wear armor like a normal warrior?

“…kler, watch your step. Those boards are rotted through.”

“Hm?” Dorian realized a moment too late that Varric had been speaking to him - the wooden walkway snapped under his weight. He dropped a few feet before landing in waist-deep water, thankfully still standing.

“Real smooth, Vint,” Iron Bull chuckled as he knelt down, offering a hand to pull Dorian back up.

“Ugh,” the utterance of disgust was in response to both the nasty water seeping into his clothing and Bull’s comment, but he grabbed the large hand anyway.

They both froze momentarily as the sounds of splashing and an odd creaking filled the air. With a heave, the Qunari yanked Dorian up onto the bridge and out of an arrow’s path. He hit the wood with a thud and quickly cast a barrier, not bothering to get up first as more arrows sailed through the air. A couple struck right next to him.

“The undead were in the water this whole time?” Faydren sent some lightning arcing through the shambling corpses.

“Yeah. Seems they’re happy to stay there too unless _somebody_ wakes them up,” Varric smirked at Dorian, firing multiple bolts in succession.

“Oh right, all my fault,” Dorian was back on his feet, launching a fireball into the hissing face of an approaching skeleton. It shrieked and turned to ash.

“At least he admits it,” Bull piped in before crushing another skeleton with an overhead swing of his greataxe.

“Maybe if you'd used my name instead of that ridiculous moniker…” The dark-haired mage grumbled.

There weren’t enough undead to be truly troublesome and the group was soon making way again. The water was carefully avoided from that point on. Dorian squished unhappily with every step while Varric and Bull tried unsuccessfully to smother their amusement. Faydren looked at him apologetically but there was a hint of humor in her eyes as well. It was such a rarity that Dorian no longer felt quite so chagrined.

***

The path snaked left and right through the bogs but didn’t break off at any point, so it was likely they were still heading in the right direction. Dorian found that a great relief, since getting lost in this place was beyond unappealing. The relative peace of their journey was interrupted by a crackle as Faydren’s Anchor came to life.

Iron Bull groaned. The Qunari’s extreme aversion to demons provided no end of amusement for Dorian. There was huge satisfaction in the knowledge that _something_ made the mountain of muscle uncomfortable.

“Does that mean what I think it does, Boss?”

“Probably,” Faydren wandered off the path, able to sense the rift somehow.

“And I guess that means we have to…” Bull let the question hang in the air.

“You know we do,” Faydren sighed, clearly not excited either.

“Yeah… A guy can hope though.”

When they found it, the rift was dormant but obviously capable of coming to life any moment. It was being examined by a large man with white and blue war paint coating his skin and a white fur pelt on his back. Spotting Faydren’s glowing hand, he rotated to face them but made no move to attack. The maul he carried rested easily in his hand with its haft on the ground. Exchanging a wary look, the party approached him.

“So. _You're_ Herald of Andraste,” the tone was amiable. “My kin want you dead, lowlander, but it's not my job. No fears from me.”

“I thought the Avvar wanted to fight me,” her grey eyes were searching.

“Our chieftain's son wants to fight you. I'm the Sky Watcher, called in when the dead pile up,” the large barbarian said politely. “Rites to the gods, mending for the bleeding, a dagger for the dying. That's what I do. I don't pick up a blade for a whelp's trophy hunt.”

“The other Avvar kidnapped an Inquisition patrol. Are they all right?” Faydren didn't bother masking her concern.

“A few were injured in the skirmish, but they were alive. Last I saw them,” his tone took on an air of respect. “Someone's trained them well. They killed more of us than I thought they would.”

“I see. Farewell, then,” the Inquisitor nodded, face clearly showing relief at his answer.

“Watch the water,” he cautioned.

“Too late,” Varric coughed the words into his hand, catching a withering glare from Dorian.

Faydren flexed her marked hand a few times and gave it a shake before stretching it toward the rift. Dorian could see her jaw clench in preparation. Whatever sensation went through that hand when she did this, it evidently wasn’t pleasant.

“You may want to step back,” she glanced over her shoulder at the Sky Watcher. He didn’t budge, so she shrugged and proceeded to rip open the rift.

Dorian was no stranger to demons, and he’d seen the rifts around Redcliffe. It was always unsettling to fight the things though – especially with the knowledge that more could pop through on your head at any moment. Varric and Iron Bull were more used to the idea, battling the demons with ease (despite the Qunari’s discomfort). Much to Dorian’s surprise, the Sky Watcher jumped in to fight as well. This proved helpful when undead from the surrounding water were drawn into the fighting.

As the last enemy fell, Faydren turned to reach for the rift once more. The strands of green energy connecting her hand to the tear seemed to coalesce into a rope. Her grip closed on it and she wrenched her arm back to collapse the hole. Oozing chunks fell to the ground and faded away. She exhaled deeply.

“Fascinating…” Dorian murmured.

“Lady of the Skies! You can mend the gaps in the air?” The barbarian gazed at her in awe.

“Pretty nice, right?” Bull grinned.

“Maybe you do have a god's favor...”

***

Well, this was lovely… Soon after they parted ways with the Avvar shaman, the towers of a fortress gatehouse came into view. The moon silhouetted its stark outline of stone against the sky. It also illuminated the veritable sea of undead wandering the road between them and the gate.

“I don’t think we can take all those on, Stormcloud,” Varric spoke what all of them were thinking.

“They’re slow, right? Can we make it to the gate?” Faydren’s head tilted slightly as she considered options.

“While the answer to that is possibly ‘yes’ – are you insane?!” Dorian’s hand made a sweeping motion at the skeletons for emphasis.

“Would you rather fight them? Because those are the only two options I’m seeing,” she spoke with determination, but her eyes held worry. “I will not leave our people to die in there.”

“Oh, venhedis…” Dorian sighed. He wouldn’t want her to abandon them either. “Well then, what are we waiting for?”

After some minor contingency planning, the four took off at a sprint and made a beeline for the gate. Faydren’s observation was correct, and the undead didn’t even notice them until they were more than halfway through. Dorian conjured a barrier before the first arrow attempted to fire. Aside from a few half-hearted sword swings and multiple poorly aimed arrows, they reached the gate unscathed. That went better than anticipated.

Dorian was grinning victoriously and about to comment on their success when he ran into Faydren’s outstretched arm, stopping him short. An arrow whizzed past his nose. What was that saying? Out of the frying pan? An army of undead slowly advanced toward the open gate behind them while a contingent of Avvar faced them from the front, shouting angrily.

“Varric?” The Inquisitor queried, eyes narrowed at their new obstacle.

“On it,” the dwarf tossed something at his feet and vanished from view. Where was he going?

Dorian refreshed their barrier as Faydren unleashed the storm and Bull charged ahead. The Tevinter mage then focused on suppressing the approaching skeletons by placing fire mines along the path. He felt sweat bead on his forehead. Thankfully the damned things still moved at a crawl.

“Got it!” Varric’s voice rang out above him.

A rough hand grabbed Dorian’s collar to drag him back as the portcullis slammed to the ground where he had been standing. Looking up, Iron Bull’s face grinned back at him. He shrugged free of the Qunari’s grasp before straightening his robes. So Varric snuck past to close the gate. Clever.

Conveniently, it also opened the inner gate and the path was now clear to go through. Dorian stepped over the fallen Avvar to get to Faydren. She was a little short of breath and there was a cut on her cheek, but she gave him a reassuring nod and they continued on. The fortress wasn’t large and they encountered little resistance reaching the main hall. As they crested the top of the stairs, a voice boomed out.

“Herald of Andraste! Face me! I am the Hand of Korth himself!”

A large Avvar stood on the dais at the other end of the hall, roaring and shaking his maul. Archers flanked him and a single warrior with tower shield stood in front. The companions looked at each other questioningly. Was that title supposed to mean something to them?

Really it didn’t matter. Dorian watched as Faydren’s eyes glinted angrily. This was the man who had stolen her people – and it was unlikely he’d live to regret it. The battle began in earnest, with Faydren and Varric targeting the archers as Dorian laid a mine under the shield-bearer’s feet. The surprised barbarian launched flaming into the air with a shriek. Iron Bull headed straight for the Hand of Korth, matching strength and bulk with the over-confident Avvar.

It seemed like the archers were endless as more popped up each time one fell. Changing focus from the party members with barrier, the Avvar targeted Bull instead. Cursing, Dorian was barely able to weave a barrier around the Qunari as he turned to block what arrows he could. None of the arrows got through, but the barrier fell and Bull was wide open for the leader’s next swing.

With a loud thud, the maul launched Iron Bull into a pillar. He slid to the ground, temporarily stunned as the Hand stomped toward him.

“Fasta vass!” Dorian hurled a fireball at the barbarian’s exposed back where it exploded with a hiss. The man went completely still before turning toward Dorian with an unholy fury in his eyes.

“Huh…” That attack had done far less than he hoped.

Ignoring Bull, the Hand instead rushed at Dorian with a roar. The mage attempted to move aside, but quickly found that the shoulder of his robe was pinned to the pillar next to him by an arrow. He hadn’t even noticed. A moment of true dread filled his chest – if he couldn’t dodge that swing… He pulled free at the last second, diving to the side as the maul smashed into the stone. The pillar cracked. Then it crumbled, and a wall of rubble toppled over on top of him.

“Dorian!” Faydren screamed.

The Tevinter mage’s head was reeling and he could feel the sticky warmth of blood dripping down his face. His last-second barrier had caught most of the brunt from the initial impact, but it wasn’t really intended to hold back constant pressure. Breathing became difficult and he was completely unable to move, pinned down by the weight of the stone.

Dorian could only watch as Faydren materialized between him and the Hand of Korth, a trail of frost in her wake. Her stance was defiant as she looked up at the adversary nearly twice her size.

“You wanted to fight the Herald of Andraste?” She slowly circled, turning the Avvar away from Dorian. “Well here I am. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“Stormcloud, I don’t know about this…” Varric was still busy holding off archers. She ignored him.

“Bull,” The Qunari had gotten to his feet unsteadily. “Get Dorian out of there.”

“Boss-”

“Now!” She wasn’t taking no for an answer. Iron Bull grunted but jogged over and carefully began removing the stones piled over Dorian. The mage winced as rocks shifted but tried to stay still, eyes glued on the Inquisitor.

The Hand of Korth had attacked in earnest, but his swings were slow. Faydren was small and agile, easily avoiding the large windups as she tossed ice and lightning at the colossus. It didn’t do much aside from making him angrier and he got more reckless with his swings. Dorian smiled. That girl was smarter than she’d admit.

Faydren continued to dance around his attacks until finally he swung the maul so hard it stuck in the stone floor. She seized the opportunity, freezing the weapon’s haft near the head and stomping on it – the head snapped off, now useless. The Avvar snarled with rage and shot a hand out to grab her. Without the maul to slow him down, the barbarian was surprisingly quick. He snatched her right arm, yanking hard, and Dorian cringed as he heard the sickening crack of her shoulder dislocating. She cried out and dropped her staff. Varric and Bull both spun at the sound.

Before either of them could do anything, they all saw it – face pale and arm caught in the barbarian’s grasp – Faydren was smirking. Her left hand closed on his wrist, eyes glowing intensely. The air lit up as electricity surged directly into the Hand of Korth. He convulsed repeatedly, screaming. With his muscles all contracted, he couldn’t have let go if he wanted to.

When Faydren finally released her grip, the Avvar slumped to the ground with steam rising from his corpse. Varric quickly went to her side as she bent down to pick up her staff with her left hand. Dorian was free from the rubble at last and painfully got to his feet while Bull went to check on the Inquisitor as well. He winced at the quick pop and pained gasp of her shoulder being helped back into its socket. Dorian smiled reassuringly at her as she walked over, arm still limp.

“Are you okay?” Her eyes were filled with concern.

“A few bumps and bruises perhaps, but I'll live,” his body heartily disagreed, but that could be seen to later. After all, he hadn't just faced down that mammoth one on one.

Faydren eyed him carefully before nodding and heading to the single unopened door in the room. She frowned upon discovering that the door was locked. Varric walked up and put a hand on her good arm, pulling a key out of nowhere. He must have grabbed it off the Avvar at some point. With a click, the door swung open. Three Inquisition soldiers were crowded around the door and nearly stumbled over each other moving back. Two were nursing minor injuries on the floor.

“Herald of Andraste…” The young soldier’s voice was filled with reverence, eyes wide.

“I dealt with the Avvar. Is everyone alright?” The Inquisitor kept her voice calm and strong as Dorian noticed her stand a bit taller. He saw no need for the act, but it seemed to quiet her nerves.

“Yes, Your Worship. The injured need some rest, but we can return on our own,” another soldier spoke, smiling shyly.

“Glad to hear it. Be careful heading back,” she paused before adding. “And don't touch the water.”

As they turned to leave, Dorian overheard the excited whispering behind them.

“I can't believe the Herald came for us!”

“I told you she wouldn't leave us.”

Glancing at Faydren as she walked away, Dorian glimpsed the smallest of smiles on her lips. It held such relief and happiness. Varric winked at him and Iron Bull nodded as they followed. Either they'd caught it too or they already knew. Dorian smiled widely. Oh there was no way he'd leave the Inquisition now – whether the rest of them liked it or not.

Just outside the hall, they ran into the Sky Watcher again. He'd apparently followed them out of curiosity.

“Your god certainly watches after you, Herald,” the Avvar looked past her with disdain. “There lies the brat. His father, chief of our holding, would duel me for the loss if he cared enough.”

“The Inquisition has a purpose your chief lacks...” Faydren suggested carefully.

“Is this why the Lady of the Skies sent me here? To help heal the wounds in her skin?” He pondered. “Aye. I'll join you. Let me make peace with my kin and I'll find where you set your flag.”

Dorian and the others looked at each in surprise. That was an unexpected turn for sure. The Inquisitor must have seen something worthy of making the offer though, and far be it for them to question. With Corypheus out there, the more allies they found the better.

***

It was slow going back through the Fallow Mire, and they were no longer in a rush so it felt even longer. The water was still carefully avoided, as none of them really felt the desire to see _more_ undead. It was a relief to find the ones outside the gate gone when they exited the fortress. Dorian was mildly curious where they went, but decided he'd rather not find out. He did have another question though...

“Now that I think about it, I’ve never seen you cast a barrier. Don’t you know how?” Dorian queried, moving to walk next to Faydren.

“Well… no,” she responded reluctantly.

“I thought that spell was a staple for any Circle!”

“It is.”

“But?”

“The senior enchanter in charge of teaching it hated me.”

“I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

“No. I accidentally electrocuted her dog once.”

“What?!” Dorian’s tone was incredulous. Bull and Varric were listening with great interest now, but remained silent.

“It wandered into a prank I was pulling on the new Templars,” seeing his horrified expression, she clarified. “The dog was fine. Its fur was just… extra fuzzy for the next week or so.”

Dorian, Iron Bull, and Varric all paused to look at one another before bursting into laughter. Faydren blinked at them in astonishment.

“My dear, you are full of surprises!” Dorian chortled

“I can’t believe you used to _prank_ the Templars,” the dwarf chuckled.

“Nicely done, Boss!” Iron Bull clapped her on the shoulder and she gasped in pain.

“Oh! Sorry, I forgot,” he cringed.

“Way to go, you big oaf!” Dorian chided.

“Hey, it was an accident! Don't get your dress in a bunch,” Bull growled.

“This is _not_ a _dress_!”

The banter went on the rest of the way, Varric tossing in jibes now and then at both sides. Faydren walked silently, content to just watch while her eyes twinkled with amusement.

***

They had been back in Skyhold for a day or two when Faydren was called to the throne to pass judgment. It was undeniably her least favorite duty since becoming Inquisitor. What right did she have to determine someone's fate? But they insisted she was the only one who could do it.

Sitting uncomfortably on the throne, the Inquisitor watched carefully as a man was brought forward. His clothing and appearance were recognizably Avvar.

“This was a surprise. After you returned from the bogs, we discovered this man attacking. The building. With a... goat,” Josephine had obviously been practicing saying it with a straight face.

Faydren couldn't help picturing that and felt her mouth twitch. There was a strangled sound from the back of the room as Cassandra forcefully tried to muffle Dorian's laughter. Thankfully, Josephine continued.

“Chief Movran the Under. He feels slighted by the killing of his Avvar tribesmen. Who repeatedly attacked you first. What should we do with him? Where... should he go?”

“You answered the death of you clan... with a goat?” Faydren had to hear the explanation for this one.

“A courtroom?” Movran laughed, looking around defitantly. “Unnecessary! You killed my idiot son, and I answered, as is my custom, by smacking your holdings with goat's blood.”

There was complete silence. Was that an actual custom? Many eyes turned to Josephine for confirmation.

“Don't look at me,” she shrugged.

“No foul! He meant to murder Tevinters, but got feisty with your Inquisition. A redheaded mother guarantees a brat. Do as you've earned, Inquisitor. My clan yields. My remaining boys have brains still in their heads!”

Movran laughed again and Faydren was struck with an idea. It was odd, but seemed fitting in her mind. If the Avvar wanted to fight Tevinters so badly...

“It seems our conflict was accidental, Chief Movran, but it can't be repeated,” Faydren admonished. “I banish you and your clan – with as many weapons as you can carry – to Tevinter.”

There was a murmur of surprise and approval from the crowd at the announcement. All present realized that the arrangement could prove quite interesting, and the thought that they might irk Tevinter was a bonus as well. The chief laughed even harder, positively gleeful.

“My idiot boy got us something after all!”

***

Varric sat across from Cullen at one of the quiet smaller tavern tables upstairs. The Commander had started speaking to him after every mission with the Inquisitor to get a 'first-hand report' – or so he said. The dwarf didn't mind. He loved telling stories after all, and the blonde's reactions sometimes were priceless. Like right now.

“She did _what_?!” Cullen's mouth hung open, eyes the size of saucers.

“Tricked the gigantic barbarian into grabbing her with his bare hands,” Varric repeated, though he knew perfectly well the ex-Templar heard it the first time.

“I _know_ what you said, Varric,” Cullen raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “You can't keep letting her be so reckless!”

“Hey, you all are the ones who put her in charge, Curly,” Varric laughed.

“That doesn't mean you shouldn't try to stop her,” his golden eyes were not amused.

“I'd like to see _you_ try to stop her when she gets like that,” the dwarf shook his head. “Stormcloud may not like being a leader, but when she sets her mind to something it's going to happen.”

“Sounds like an easy excuse to me,” the Commander narrowed his eyes.

“Iron Bull and Dorian were there too, y'know. They didn't stop her either.”

Cullen couldn't come up with a good response to that and sighed, looking down into the mug of ale he'd barely touched. Varric felt a little bit bad for poking so much fun... but he really was such an easy target.

“She's always going to think of others first, Curly. I'm sure you already know that by now, but you need to accept it too,” he got to his feet and put a friendly hand on Cullen's shoulder. “Otherwise you're gonna worry yourself into an early grave and _then_ who'll lead the Inquisition forces?”

“Cassandra is more than capable, as are many others,” was the terse reply.

“Maybe. The Inquisitor would still be pissed though,” Tethras decided to leave on that note. He glanced back from the stairs to see Cullen deep in thought with a puzzled look still on his face. Varric smirked.


	9. Shelter in a Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition is well on its way to gaining its strength back. However as this is mostly handled by her advisers (with input from the Inquisitor), Faydren is stuck hanging around Skyhold until her skills are needed elsewhere. Though it may not be as bad as she thinks...

Faydren hadn’t talked to Cullen outside of War Room meetings since they got to Skyhold – that was a week ago. She wasn’t intentionally avoiding him… he just always seemed so busy. Even now, as she watched from the ramparts, he was hunched over plans on a makeshift table in the courtyard while occasionally tossing out orders to various soldiers. Chewing her bottom lip for a moment, she made a decision and walked to the ladder.

When he saw her approaching, Cullen finished giving an order before turning his full attention to her. His expression was pleasant, if distracted. Light played across his eyes, turning them to liquid gold, and the wind rustled his sandy hair gently. Faydren merely stood there for a moment as she realized there wasn’t anything specific she wished to speak with him about. Thankfully, the Commander had something to say himself.

“We set up as best we could at Haven, but could never prepare for an Archdemon - or whatever it was,” he rubbed the back of his neck, visibly exhausted. “With some warning, we might have...”

“Do you ever sleep?” Faydren asked the question out of concern rather than levity.

“If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw. And I wouldn't want to,” he focused on the table once more. “We must be ready. Work on Skyhold is underway. Guard rotations established. We should have everything on course within the week. We will not run from here, Inquisitor.”

“How many did we lose at Haven?” The question came unbidden. She’d been afraid to ask anyone for fear of the answer, but at the same time she _needed_ to know.

“Most of our people made it to Skyhold. It could have been worse. Morale was low, but it has improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor,” his mouth curved into a half-smile.

“Everyone has so much faith in my leadership… I hope I'm ready,” Faydren’s chest tightened any time she thought about it. A lot of people had placed their hopes in her - including the man currently standing next to her.

“You won't have to carry the Inquisition alone. Although it must feel like it...” He faced her again, kind face reassuring. “ _We_ needed a leader, and _you_ have proven yourself.”

“Thank you, Cullen.” He smiled warmly and she realized that may have been the first time she had spoken his first name. She quickly continued. “Our escape from Haven... It was close. I'm relieved that you- that so many made it out.”

“As am I,” he met her eyes before dropping his gaze uncertainly. The ex-Templar looked uncomfortable and Faydren stared at the ground, mentally kicking herself for saying something wrong. The conversation seemed to be over so she began to leave.

“You stayed behind…” Cullen’s voice was quiet and husky. She looked up to find his eyes intense, searching her face. Her breath caught and she froze under the scrutiny – it felt like he could see right through her defenses.

“You could have-” His jaw clenched and he shook his head firmly. “I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word.”

Faydren breathed normally again as Cullen returned to his work at the table, calling over some waiting soldiers. What was that? Something in the moment was just so… powerful. She had no doubt that he would keep his word if the time came. Maker willing, it never would.

***

The Inquisitor entered the War Room curiously. Josephine said they had a surprise for her which (knowing them) could mean any number of things. The three advisers were deep in conversation with a trio of mages that she did not recognize. The group turned as she entered and Josephine smiled brightly.

“Oh! You’re here!”

“You did request my presence?”

“Yes,” Leliana nodded. “We have taken the liberty of inviting some specialists to Skyhold in order to further your skills. You have been doing well, but the Circle doesn’t exactly focus on honing combat technique.”  
“These are powerful mages – not tied to the rebellion – who can offer training.”

Brief introductions were made as each instructor stepped forward. There was Commander Helaine, a stern-looking elven Knight-Enchanter; Speaker Viuus Anaxas, a scholarly Mortalitasi with a balding head and scraggly beard; and a wild-eyed blonde woman who insisted her name was ‘Your Trainer’ and claimed the newly-discovered skills of Rift Mage. The Inquisitor was a tad overwhelmed by this sudden development, but the advisers anticipated as much.

“You can talk with them at greater length later before making your final decision. Only one can be chosen because each takes a degree of skill that would be unattainable if you split your focus.”

The trainers bowed and took their leave. Faydren had begun to follow when she heard rushed whispers behind her. Stopping, a look over her shoulder showed Leliana and Josie pushing a flustered Cullen toward her as he awkwardly hid something behind his back.

“Um, Inquisitor,” he cleared his throat as she faced him fully. “We, ah, noticed that you were using a rather rudimentary staff, so…”

The Commander paused, swallowing and looking back at the other two who urged him on with shooing gestures. Sighing heavily, he pushed out the rest of the sentence in one breath.  
“We had a new one crafted for you I hope it is to your liking.”

As he finished speaking, Cullen brought the weapon from behind his back and held it out resting across his palms. Faydren’s eyes went wide and her mouth opened in obvious wonder. It was possibly the most beautiful staff she’d ever seen. It was definitely nicer than any that she had owned. She ran a hand reverently along the grip.

The head was an elaborately carved dragon, wings spread as though about to take flight while its claws wrapped protectively around the top. Deep etching swirled delicately along the length of the staff before reaching the base. A sharp, well-balanced blade adorned the bottom with a relief of lightning striking engraved into it. The staff’s metal was a silvery green that gained a purple sheen in certain lights, and Faydren could feel the familiar buzz of power at her fingertips. They had even chosen her element.

Finally taking it from Cullen’s hands, she practically cradled the weapon before looking up at them with a brilliant smile. They were taken aback. It was strange to see such happiness on her face, and it touched their hearts. The room seemed to grow dimmer when she composed herself, expression returning to normal.

“Thank you all so much. I’ve never received such a wonderful gift,” warmth filled her voice.

“It is the least we could do,” Josephine bowed her head, grinning from ear to ear.

“We cannot send our leader to battle with anything but the best. Isn’t that right, Commander?” Leliana stepped up next to Cullen and subtly elbowed him. He was staring.

“Of course,” he blinked a few times, refocusing. “It was our pleasure, Inquisitor.”

The three moved past her to the exit, leaving Faydren alone in the large room. She spent the next hour or so getting comfortable with her new weapon and casting some spells. Josephine made sure nobody bothered her.

***

Later that evening, Trevelyan sought out the trainers to ask more questions before making her choice. She found the Rift Mage and the Necromancer first. After speaking with them in-depth about their specializations and why each would be fitting for a ‘powerful Inquisitor’, she found herself no closer to making a decision. Neither of them felt right for her at all, and it was discouraging. These were some of the most skilled mages in all of Thedas – maybe she just wasn’t good enough?

Moving through the lower courtyard, she spotted Commander Helaine watching from near the gatehouse. The tall elven woman examined Faydren with calculating eyes. Her brown hair was tied back into a severe bun, and she stood with an air of calm dignity and authority as Trevelyan approached.

“Declare yourself, Inquisitor.”  
“What do you mean?” The statement confused her.

“I ask your intent. I was summoned to oversee training, and I would know my charge. I am your Commander in this matter.”

“I’m not even sure of my own intent, Commander Helaine...”

“'Commander' will suffice, recruit,” she seemed to consider her next words carefully. “I teach the skills of the Knight-Enchanter. It is a rank, it is a life. I will teach you how to rise to your place. How to join your warriors, spectral blade in hand. How to command the ranks while standing beside them. Are you ready?”

“I… don’t know that I can ever attain what you describe,” the younger mage lowered her eyes uncertainly.

“There are no borders for the mage who wields a spectral blade,” Helaine said forcefully. “There is respect, and there is fear. Those of our rank earn their place.”

“Do you think it possible for me?” Faydren asked, hopeful. Was she capable of these things? She truly couldn’t say…

“Only you know if you are fit to lead with more than maps. Do you have the mettle to raise a blade in grand melee? To have your presence make heroes of your charges? This is a path for leaders. _You_ tell _me_ if you are worthy,” the Knight-Enchanter went silent – waiting.

To lead… To inspire… _That_ was what she wanted to be for the Inquisition and all its people. They deserved that much from her at least. Setting her jaw with determination, Faydren met the woman’s gaze unflinchingly.

“Tell me what I must do.”

“Then we will begin the simple steps, recruit. And we shall see what heights you reach.”

Helaine seemed to approve as she began giving instructions to her new charge. This was the right choice. The Inquisitor could feel it.

***

A messenger came by her room midway through the day. The message was vague, but clearly the sender wished to discuss something important and Faydren quickly went to meet them. Knocking gently, she opened the door to Cullen’s office. He was leaning over his desk, arms bracing his weight as he looked down at a small box with strange tools sitting inside. Tired eyes met hers when she entered.

“As leader of the Inquisition, you-” he sighed heavily. “There is something I must tell you.”

“Whatever it is, I'm willing to listen. You know that,” she was concerned by his tone.

“Right… Thank you.” He acted surprised, but her response gave him confidence to continue. “Lyrium grants Templars our abilities, but it controls us as well. Those cut off suffer… Some go mad, others die.”

Faydren had heard as much before, though she’d never seen the lyrium ingested or what happened if a Templar stopped. It always sounded like a terrible burden. What if they wanted to leave the Order? Start a family? She’d never liked the addiction being a requirement for their job.

“We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the Templars here, but I... no longer take it,” Cullen continued.

“You stopped?” Her heart skipped a beat.

“When I joined the Inquisition. It's been months now.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Commander, if this could kill you...” Somehow Faydren kept her voice and expression calm, but her mind was spinning out of control and taking her heart along for the ride. What if he died?

“It hasn't yet,” Cullen grumbled. The response was not reassuring. “After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn't... I will not be bound to the Order – or that life – any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it. But I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I've asked Cassandra to... watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty.”

Faydren could see and hear his determination. Reckless as it may be, this was extremely important to him. He wanted to be free of it… Who was she to chastise him for that? Cullen was strong. He’d gone this long without, and she hadn’t even noticed it affecting him. If this was what he truly wanted, she would support him - no matter what.

“Are you in pain?” The mage asked softly, sadly.

“I can endure it.”

“Thank you for telling me. I respect what you're doing,” Faydren wanted to help - wanted to take away the pain and all that plagued him. But this would have to do for now.

“Thank you, Inquisitor. The Inquisition's army must always take priority. Should anything happen, I will defer to Cassandra's judgment.”

“I would rather it not come to that, Commander. Take care of yourself.”

Faydren didn’t wait for a response. She gave a respectful nod before exiting. A shaky sigh escaped her once the door was closed. Her hand trembled as she put it against her head. Cullen _would_ be fine. No need to worry over nothing. The Inquisitor strode back into the main building, silently cursing at herself for getting so attached again…

***

Days went by slowly, and Faydren was getting restless waiting around in Skyhold. The advisers hadn’t come up with anything for her to do in a while. She spent most of her time training as a Knight-Enchanter and listening to briefings in the War Room, and it was about to drive her crazy. After spending so much time bored in the Circle, her tolerance for it was practically nonexistent now that the whole world was open to her.

Currently she was walking around the Chantry garden. It was lovely and peaceful, which made it nice for most people. She was only there to see if the stray cat was around. There was a piece of leftover meat in her pocket that she’d been saving. The feline liked to sleep inside some of the shrubs, so that’s where the Inquisitor was crouched.

“Gloat all you like, I have this one,” Cullen's voice caught her ear from across the garden.

“Are you _sassing_ me, Commander? I didn't know you had it in you,” Dorian taunted playfully.

Curious, Faydren made her way out of the bushes and crossed the small courtyard to reach them. The two men sat across from each other at a low stone table with a game board set up on its surface. Both appeared to be enjoying themselves a great deal. It made her happy to see them like that.

“Why do I even... Inquisitor!” The Commander dropped a piece in his rush to stand as he saw her approach.

“Leaving, are you? Does this mean I win?” The Tevinter mage had a devilish grin on his face. Cullen sat back down with a glare.

“Please, don't stop on my account,” Faydren reassured. She hadn't seen a game of Archon in months. Eyes taking in the board, she quickly got a grasp of who was winning and a smile tugged at her lips.

“Alright,” Cullen steepled his fingers in concentration.

“You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory,” Dorian practically oozed self-satisfaction, making his move. “You'll feel much better.”

“Really? Because I just won. And I feel fine,” Cullen chuckled and relaxed back into his chair with a pleased expression. Dorian's face fell as he looked at the board and Faydren just shook her head.

“Don't get smug. There'll be no living with you,” Pavus quipped. He got to his feet and winked at Faydren before heading across the garden. The place was empty now aside from her and Cullen.

“I should return to my duties as well. Unless... you would care for a game?” His eyes were questioning. Was that a hint of hopefulness in his voice?

“Prepare the board, Commander.” It had been a long time since she'd played, but Archon wasn't something you forgot. Much to her surprise, Cullen began reminiscing as he rearranged the pieces for a new game.

“As a child, I played this with my sister. She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won – which was _all_ the time,” he chuckled.

“My brother and I practiced together for weeks! The look on her face the day I finally won...” His eyes crinkled with amusement, but he continued his task.

“Between serving the Templars and the Inquisition, I haven't seen them in years. I wonder if she... still plays,” his voice trailed off as he became thoughtful.

“You have siblings?”

This was news to her. For some reason she had assumed he had no family, or at least nobody he was close to. But it sounded like he missed them. Why wouldn’t he have visited?

“Two sisters and a brother,” he responded easily, settling himself in the chair now that the board was set.

“Where are they now?”

“They moved to South Reach after the Blight. I do not write to them as often as I should…”

Faydren studied him carefully for a moment. He’d been a good brother - there was no doubt in her mind. She wondered what his family was like. They must miss him terribly…

The match began in earnest with both players focusing intently. Occasionally one or the other would toss out a random comment, or remark on an interesting move choice, but comfortable silence reigned.

“This may be the longest we've gone without discussing the Inquisition - or related matters,” Cullen mused. “To be honest, I appreciate the distraction.”

“We should spend more time together,” the words slipped out, and she found that she meant them.

“I would... like that,” he grinned widely, though he was obviously surprised. His honey-colored eyes stayed locked on her for a moment before he continued softly. “We should... finish our game. Right? My turn?”

Faydren focused on two things during that game: the board, and Cullen. When not planning a move, she found herself distracted by the scar above his lip, the stray lock of sandy hair falling across his forehead, the way his brow wrinkled while he was thinking… The man was distracting. It was a good thing though, because Faydren wasn’t sure she could have made it through otherwise. And she did so want to stay for him… He seemed so happy and relaxed while they played.

“I believe this one is yours. Well played,” Cullen said amiably as he leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. It was true. The game was close, but she'd pulled through in the end. “We shall have to try again sometime.”

Faydren's head was down so that he couldn't see her face as she fought back the sudden tears. She'd won the last time she played too... Against Darius. She enjoyed hearing about Cullen's family, but it also reminded her of what she'd lost. With her mind focused on him and the game, it was easy to push aside those feelings. Now that it was over? Her heart ached. Standing up quickly and turning away, she mumbled a response to his offer and barely kept herself from running back to her room.

She _did_ want to play Archon with him again. Maybe next time, the pain would be a little less...

***

The sun was beginning to set, but Cullen remained glued to the reports on his desk. The Inquisition was making progress. The amount of support and recruits they'd received after Haven was staggering, but somehow they were managing it all. The door opened and he glanced up expecting to see another messenger. What he did not expect was to see the Inquisitor standing there, violet-ringed eyes uncertain as she cleared her throat. Her outfit consisted of plain leather breeches and a loosely fitted shirt. Simple, but she wore it well.

“Good evening, Commander,” she shifted her feet nervously.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen straightened. He hadn't seen her since the day of their Archon match, and he still felt guilty. The mage was so distressed when she left that he must have done something to upset her. For a moment he considered bringing it up, but decided against for fear of scaring her away again.

“I- wanted to ask you...” She was so nervous that he began to worry something terrible was coming.

“Yes?” He braced himself.

“Will you spar with me?” Faydren said the words so fast it took a moment for them to register. She looked relieved to have gotten them out at all.

“Spar with you?” Cullen blinked at her in shock. “I thought you were training with Commander Helaine?”

“I have been. She suggested I try my skills against warriors other than her though since there are so many different fighting techniques. I've barely had any experience at all against a shield.”

“And... you're asking _me_?” There were so many other available options; it came as a huge surprise that she would choose him. Especially after he had been so concerned she was upset.

“Oh. I just thought... You're probably busy. It's alright, I can find someone else,” she reached for the door.

“No!” The shout surprised even him, but he saw her pause. “I was just caught off guard. Of course I will assist with your training, however I can.”

Faydren's face was grateful as she turned back to him. He'd managed to make his reasoning sound official, but really he was just looking forward to another reason to spend time with her. The thought was strange, but not unwelcome.

 

They decided to meet for sparring on the second floor of the stables. Partly to avoid prying eyes, and also because the straw made for a more cushioned fall if the need arose. Cullen had changed into comfortable clothes much more similar to what Faydren was wearing.

He gripped his sword and shield easily, as though they were merely an extension of himself - he'd used them long enough that sometimes it felt like it. Normally he would use the wooden swords and shields for practice, but the Inquisitor had insisted he use the real ones. She wasn't sure how the wood might fare against her weapon.

As she stood across from him, he couldn't help but be curious – where was her weapon? She held the new staff in her right hand, but it was clearly only there to get used to while fighting. Then his gaze caught what looked like an empty hilt in her left hand. Was that it?

“Are you ready?” Faydren questioned, eyes taking on an intensity he hadn't seen in a while.

“Let us begin,” he took up a defensive stance.

With a nod, she dropped low and Cullen watched closely as a glowing golden blade roughly the size of a claymore manifested from the hilt. Despite the size, it couldn't have weighed much because she held it without effort. And then she was swinging it toward him in a wide arc.

The ex-Templar was able to block the blow with little trouble, though the force it connected with sent a ringing vibration through his shield. Faydren was obviously used to her swings being dodged rather than blocked, because the rebound caught her off balance and she stumbled. He tossed out a few pointers and had her try again.

Eventually they were trading a constant flurry of blows back and forth. Cullen had only seen the Inquisitor fight a couple of times before, and had never watched closely – they were in the middle of battles after all. Now, he was able to appreciate the graceful fluidity of her movements as she struck, dodged, and parried. It was like watching a dance to which only she knew the steps.

The Circle may not have taught her how to fight, but it seemed they didn't really need to. Her instincts were surprisingly good and she was a quick learner. It was almost as though she'd been born for battle. The same had been said of him before, and its truth had proved to be both a blessing and a curse – those born for battle often find it thrust upon them.

Cullen wasn't sure how long they'd been at it, but both of them were breathing hard now and sweat dripped down the side of Faydren's face. She looked tired but pleased. The companionship had been a welcome distraction, and he got the feeling neither of them wanted to stop.

Shaking his head with a grin, he took his stance one more time and began slowly circling. He caught a twinkle in her eye as she summoned her blade and matched his pacing. The boards were creaking under their feet as they moved, and Faydren lunged at him.

Then something unexpected happened – with a crack, the wood under Cullen's right foot caved and his boot shot through the hole. His defenses dropped as he tried to keep from falling over.

Realizing with alarm that he couldn't block her attack, Cullen looked up in time to see a panicked expression on the Inquisitor's face before the golden blade vanished mere inches from his chest. Faydren's momentum had not slowed though and she slammed into him with enough force to knock them both to the floor with a crash.

The Commander opened his golden eyes and found himself staring directly into a pair of startled silver ones. Faydren was on top of him, hands between them on his chest, and face close enough that he could feel her breath. They both appeared to be fine except for any bruises that may show up later, but for the moment they just lay there in stunned silence.

“Are you two alright? That didn't sound good,” Blackwall stomped up the stairs. A slow grin grew on the bearded man's face when he saw their predicament. “My mistake. I'll leave you to it then.”

Cullen saw a slight flush begin to creep up her neck, and his ears burned. Faydren pushed off from him like she was on fire and scrambled to her feet. He stumbled up as well and they talked over each other trying to explain what had just happened. Blackwall chuckled and reassured them that he understood before returning down to work on his carving.

“Well...” Cullen coughed when they were alone again. “I suppose we're done for the night then.”

“Yes, you're probably right,” she agreed reluctantly.

“Although... We could get some refreshment at the tavern? I'm certainly thirsty,” he offered, watching her reaction carefully.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Faydren said with a hint of relief.

The two went downstairs and headed to the tavern, chatting amiably about how they thought the sparring went and possible improvements for next time – like a sturdier floor.

***

Varric had been catching up on his writing lately with all the free time, but now he was taking a break in the tavern. A good thing too, since he wouldn’t have missed seeing this for the world – Faydren and Cullen had just walked through the door. Together.

They were both wearing casual clothing, and their sweaty faces told him there was some sort of physical exertion involved in whatever they’d been doing. Varric knew better than to assume it was _that_ , so he decided on combat training instead.

Faydren spotted him across the room and waved, tapping Cullen’s shoulder and pointing. The Commander nodded a hello at Varric then said something to the mage and gestured to the bar. She responded before splitting off and coming over to the dwarf’s table, plopping down in an empty chair.

“Fancy seeing you here, Stormcloud,” Varric grinned. “Been busy I see?”

“Practicing with my spirit blade,” she explained. If she caught his underlying meaning, it didn’t show. Damn.

Cullen made his way over with two mugs of ale and set one in front of Faydren before sitting down. The dwarf thought about pulling out a similar comment for the bashful Templar, but it would be too easy. This was definitely getting filed away for later use however.

The three of them chatted and drank for the better part of an hour. It was rare to see Faydren so content, and Varric had no doubt that it was directly related to the smiling sandy-haired gentleman beside her. Cullen seemed a lot better around her as well. Now if the two of them would just see that…

“What might be going on over here?” A chipper voice cut in as Dorian approached the table, smiling hugely.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say the Commander is enjoying himself,” Iron Bull strode over as well.

“Good thing you know better then,” Cullen said drily.

The Qunari laughed and clapped Cullen on the back hard enough that he nearly spilled his drink. Faydren motioned for the new arrivals to stay, and Dorian produced a deck of cards from his robes as he took a seat. The conversation was light and fun as they played a casual game. The hour was late indeed before the Commander got reluctantly to his feet.

“If I hope to get anything done tomorrow, I’d best retire for the evening,” he sighed.

“I should go as well,” Faydren stood. “Josephine may kill me if I fall asleep in one of her meetings again…”

“You didn’t!” Dorian chuckled. She nodded sheepishly.

“Thank you for your assistance this evening, Commander.” Varric wondered if she realized how bright her smile was when she spoke to him. The rest of them only got glimmers most of the time.

“Of course,” Cullen replied warmly. “I’m willing to help any time you like, Inquisitor.”

Varric made note of the fact that Curly didn’t take his eyes off her all the way to the door. He smiled and shook his head. Those two might even be worse at this than Aveline and Donnic. Then again, they hadn’t even realized the truth themselves yet.

Dorian dealt a new hand of cards and barely waited a full turn before speaking what had clearly been on his mind for a while. He cleared his throat.

“So, is it just me or are those two-?”

“Yep,” Bull and Varric answered in unison, not bothering to look up from their cards.

“And neither of them has-?”

“Nope,” they chorused.

“How curious...” Dorian stroked his mustache.

“Not as strange as you'd think, Sparkler,” Varric finally glanced up, taking a swig from his mug. “You've got two romantic novices, both with enough painful baggage to fill Isabela's cargo hold, and an intense fear of being hurt again.”  
“Well when you put it that way...”

“Have you noticed that they only address each other by title?” Bull played a card, chuckling.

“I was hoping that was just a matter of timing on my part,” Dorian groaned. “You’ve _never_ heard them use first names?”

“Not once,” Varric found the Tevinter’s distress highly amusing.

“Venhedis, this is painful…” He slumped across the table, triggering hearty laughter at his dramatics. “I hate you both.”

The words were said without heat as Dorian began to laugh right along with them. Varric marveled at the fact that he’d somehow found himself with a group of great people yet again. Things weren’t perfect in Kirkwall, but he still missed those times with his friends. Things were even less perfect now, yet they could still find humor and good company.

Aside from some eerily similar physical traits, Hawke and Stormcloud weren’t much alike – but they did both have a way of drawing people to them. Uncommon people too. Who would have thought he’d be drinking and laughing with a Tevinter mage and a Qunari spy? Especially after being close friends with an escaped Tevinter slave and a pirate who stole from the Qunari. The irony was not lost on him.

This draw was just a small part of what made both women special though. He smiled. Other traits were just harder to put into words. Speaking of Hawke… Varric wondered if she’d gotten his letter yet.


	10. Desert Lightning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are finally settled in Skyhold with a strong infrastructure tying the Inquisition together. Now it is time to expand their reach and influence, while also keeping an eye out for what Corypheus and the Venatori plan to do next...

Faydren walked up the stairs slowly. She and Dorian had only recently gotten back from Redcliffe. Meeting his father there had certainly been a surprise for both of them since the letter said it would just be a retainer. From there, things didn’t go well.

Having her own family issues, Faydren couldn’t blame Dorian for his reaction. Once she heard the appalling reason and saw the pain it caused her friend? Well. Magister Halward was just lucky the Inquisitor had such excellent self-control. Sometimes. Needless to say, they left soon after.

The trip back to Skyhold had been unusually quiet considering the typical nature of her travel partner. Trevelyan lamented her inability to find a way to comfort him, but made sure to stay close. Hopefully her presence alone helped in some small way.

Now, approaching the cozy alcove, she spotted Dorian leaning against the wall and gazing out the window. He still seemed so sad, and it hurt her heart. There was a time in her life when she might have known instinctively how to help, but it had gotten much harder for her now. As she struggled to find words, Dorian spoke instead. He must have heard her coming.

“He's a good man, my father. Deep down. He taught me principle is important,” his voice was low and somber, laced with hurt. “He cares for me, in his way, but he won't ever change. I can't forgive him for what he did. I won't.”

“Are you alright...?” The words were not what she wanted, but it was all she could think of.

“No, not really...” he moved to face her, eyes melancholy. “Thank you for bringing me out there, even if it didn't work out. Maker knows what you must think of me now, after that whole display.”

Faydren was startled. He was worried that she’d think less of him? If anything, her opinion of him had only improved. The Tevinter was a good man and a better friend. Knowing that so much heartache hid under that witty bravado only further proved just how strong he really was.

“I think you're very brave,” she said with assurance.

“Brave?” Dorian repeated in astonishment.

“It's not easy to abandon tradition and walk your own path. I'm not sure I could do the same.”

Watching his eyes crinkle as he smiled softly, Faydren was relieved. Pathetic as her attempt was, apparently it managed to help somehow. She wanted him to be happy. He deserved to be happy.

“At any rate, time to drink myself into a stupor. It's been that sort of day. Join me sometime, if you've a mind,” he spoke the offer with warmth.

The Inquisitor gave a slight smile before turning to go. She paused. Dorian looked at her curiously as she chewed her lip and frowned in thought. After a long moment Faydren threw her arms around him and hugged tightly for just an instant before releasing, sliding around the corner, and darting down the stairs. Dorian’s initial surprise gave way to a huge grin.

***

It was much more hushed and dimly lit on the second floor of the Herald’s Rest (Faydren tried not to cringe at the name they had given the tavern). Most people didn’t look too closely at the shadowy corner table the Inquisitor had sought out for herself, which was exactly how she wanted it. Her pen tip scratched away at a loose leaf of paper as she held it still, brow furrowed in concentration.

Sketching was something she’d picked up in the Circle for those extra boring days. Eventually she got to be fairly proficient with it. Faydren managed to acquire materials from around Skyhold without drawing too much attention, and had since filled a few sheets with sketches of her companions. A certain Commander appeared on them perhaps a bit more often than the others.

They’d continued to spend more time together. One of them always seemed to find a reason for it. Trevelyan found herself looking forward to that time more and more. All of her friends were important to her, but something felt different with Cullen. It was warm… safe. She didn’t quite understand it. But that feeling was difficult to come by, so she appreciated it while she could.

“Miss, might I trouble you for a piece of paper?”

Faydren nearly swept all the papers off the table in her rush to cover them. Looking up, it was a young man she didn’t recognize and her shoulders relaxed somewhat. He likely wouldn’t ask questions about her work. She slid a blank sheet on top of the others before responding.

“Um, of course. Did you need-” the mage cut off as she saw realization dawn on his face.

“O-oh! It’s you. I mean, you’re her,” he straightened and gave a little bow before fiddling with his hands nervously. “I- well, I joined! Saw some bandits. Thought I should warn the Inquisition. So here I am!”

“We appreciate it,” Faydren spoke sincerely, wishing he wouldn't be so formal.

“I hope there’s some way I can help the Inquisition,” his voice was earnest. “Maybe… cleaning?”

“I’m sure you’ll find a place,” she smiled slightly. Surely there was something for him to do. “Did you still need the paper?”

“Ummm. Yes. If you don’t mind. I was going to write out my information for Commander Cullen,” the young man nodded vigorously, respectfully taking the sheet she held out. He made it halfway to the stairs before stopping to call back.

“Oh, I’m Sutherland by the way!”

Faydren raised a hand in acknowledgment and he sauntered down the stairs. She tilted her head, pondering. Sutherland… Somebody would make good use of his enthusiasm. Hopefully they found something he enjoyed. Refreshing the ink on her pen, the Inquisitor returned to her sketches.

***

“We should look into the Western Approach. There have been strange movements from the Venatori there, and we also may discover information related to the Wardens,” Leliana pointed out to the gathering at the War Table.

“That place is a wasteland. We don’t have the holdings or the supply lines to sustain a force stationed there,” Cullen countered.

“I could go,” Faydren’s voice cut in and they all looked at her in surprise.

“That won’t be necessary, Inquisitor,” the Commander quickly tried to discourage the idea.

“Why not?”

“There are other agents we could send. It might be unwise-”

“You just said it was troublesome to send a large group. Besides, I’m tired of sitting around Skyhold like some useless figurehead that needs to be protected,” her jaw was set with determination. Cullen could already see this was going to be a difficult argument. It was a side of her they didn’t see often, but the Inquisitor could be formidable when she chose to be.

Leliana and Josephine exchanged amused glances as Faydren and the Commander argued back and forth, countering each other’s points. It was already obvious to them who was going to win, but seeing him try so hard anyway proved quite entertaining. The discussion ended with Cullen in a huff, but Faydren would be leaving for the Western Approach within the week.

“We’ll send a small scouting group ahead to set up an outpost camp for you, Inquisitor. You can use it to relay any information you find on your trip,” Leliana inclined her head with a smile and left the room.

“I’ll make sure appropriate supplies and travel arrangements are made for your departure,” Josephine winked at Cullen as she walked out and he sighed.

“I still don’t like it. This is dangerous,” Cullen leaned against the table and crossed his arms.

“So are a lot of things. But I want to help,” the words jogged her memory. “Did you get a report of bandits recently? From a young man named Sutherland?”

“Um, yes I think so,” he wasn’t expecting such a sudden change in topic. “Why?”

“I was just wondering how you planned on handling it.”

“Well the bandits are a threat, albeit a minor one. We’ll take care of it.”

“And Sutherland? I think he wanted to help,” Cullen could see the hint of an amused smile touch her lips. She clearly thought the boy deserved a chance.

“I suppose he can go with our men to dispatch the bandits. It was his tip after all, and they shouldn’t prove too much trouble,” he watched the full smile appear before it vanished just as quickly.

“Good. I think he’ll make a fine addition to the Inquisition.”

Faydren made for the doors, leaving him to stare after her. Cullen suddenly scowled as he realized that she’d changed the topic before he was done voicing his disapproval. Leliana and Josephine were going to hear about this later… They were no help at all.

The Commander rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe he was being unreasonable, but he couldn’t help worrying about her going off into a desert to face Maker knows what. Knowing that she was fully capable of handling herself in a fight did not ease his mind.

A nagging thought wormed its way into his head - was it just concern that made him reluctant to send her? Or was it also the knowledge that he’d have to go all that time without seeing her? Cullen had grown accustomed to her presence around Skyhold, minus a few short trips to Fereldan and Val Royeaux. This mission could take weeks...

He sighed heavily. It might be for the best. He needed to get over this infatuation before it interfered with their duties.

***

Dorian could feel his annoyance growing. He and Mother Giselle had never gotten on especially well, and it seemed that tension was coming to a head. The Tevinter already knew that his heritage gave people pause, but to actually imply that he would take advantage of his closeness with the Inquisitor? The fact that other people thought as much didn’t bother him, but what if _she_ heard and began to doubt…

“Oh, I...” The Chantry woman stopped talking and actually looked guilty.

“What's going on here?” Dorian felt Faydren move to his side.

“It seems the Revered Mother is concerned about my 'undue influence' over you,” his voice dripped with disdain. She may as well find out about the rumors firsthand.

“It _is_ just concern. Your Worship, you must know how this looks,” Giselle entreated. Faydren looked back and forth between the two in confusion.

“You might need to spell it out, my dear,” Dorian prodded.

“This man is of Tevinter. His presence at your side, the rumors alone...” It seemed the woman was determined not to speak plainly. He stifled a frustrated sigh.

“What's wrong with him being from Tevinter? Specifically?” The Inquisitor’s voice grew cold. Apparently the vague statement had been enough for her to get the drift.

“I'm fully aware that not everyone from the Imperium is the same,” the backpedaling began but Dorian cut in.

“How kind of you to notice. Yet still you bow to the opinion of the masses?”

“The opinion of the masses is based on centuries of evidence. What would you have me tell them?”

“The truth?”

“The truth is I do not know you, and neither do they. Thus these rumors will continue.”

“There's no cause for concern,” Faydren interrupted firmly.

“With all due respect, you underestimate the effect this man has on the people's good opinion.”

“Do the people know how he's helped the Inquisition? And how he warned us at Haven?”

Dorian could feel the hair on his arms stand on end from static and realized that Faydren was getting really worked up about this. Jaw clenched and eyes sparking, she was practically daring Mother Giselle to disagree with her.

“I... see. I meant no disrespect, Inquisitor, only to ask after this man's intentions. If you feel he is without ulterior motive, then I humbly beg forgiveness of you both,” with a slight bow, she scurried away.

“Well, that's something,” Dorian said sarcastically.

“She didn't get to you, did she?” The righteous anger of a moment ago had been replaced by calm concern.

“No, it takes more to get to me than thinly veiled accusations,” he shrugged.

“You don't think she'll do anything?”

“Do what? Yours is the good opinion I care about, not hers,” the dark-haired man looked at her carefully, head tilted. “I should ask... Do the rumors bother _you_?”

Faydren appeared completely taken aback by the question before pausing to consider. She really hadn’t thought about it at all. He chuckled mentally at how adorably straightforward she was. Her eyes grew sad as she responded.

“I wish they wouldn't disparage you... They don't know you.”

“They know you even less than they know me,” Dorian sighed at the girl’s complete disregard for her own reputation. Still, her support touched him deeply - she truly did believe in him. “Perhaps it's odd to say, but... I think of you as a friend, Faydren. I have precious few friends. I didn't think to find one here.”

“I-” She appeared at a loss for words. Good. All this serious feelings talk was really outside of his comfort zone.

“Don't speak. I detest confessions, and I'd like to get this over with. Allow me to say I'll stand beside you – against Corypheus, my countrymen, or spurious rumor – so long as you'll have me.”

He grinned and placed his hand on top of her head affectionately. For a moment, she just blinked at him in surprise. Then Faydren smiled brighter than he’d ever seen before.

“You may come to regret that,” she teased. Her face swiftly returned to neutral, but there was a twinkle in her eyes.

“Oh dear. I’m about to find out the actual reason for your visit, aren’t I? If there’s an undead-filled bog involved, the answer is no.”

“How do you feel about sand?”

***

“I rescind my answer to your previous question, Inquisitor. I _hate_ sand!”

“Well at least you’re not cold, right Sparkler?”

“Oh the Vint’s probably still cold.”

Faydren continued to walk ahead of them, shaking her head in amusement at the friendly banter. Dorian only used the title when he was miffed because he knew it bothered her. He, Iron Bull, and Varric were her preferred team for longer trips. They seemed to get along better than some of the others and their skills synergized quite well… plus the entertainment value was especially high.

They’d only been in the Western Approach for a few days, and the sand definitely took some getting used to. Leliana had been right though, the Venatori were unquestionably up to something here. After a few skirmishes with the bastards, they sent word back to Skyhold before setting out to find the Venatori stronghold.

If the enemy was able to support so many forces out here, it meant the Inquisition could too. But that location was the key. So now they were out hoping to spot a patrol to follow without being noticed. Or - if they were lucky – stumble onto the base itself. Easier said than done, of course.

Varric moved to her side, matching pace easily. Bull and Dorian continued tossing jabs back and forth behind them. The two would occasionally have surprisingly deep intellectual conversations, but most often they stuck to creatively insulting one another. The Inquisition scout traveling with them appeared at a loss for how to react, his sky blue eyes wide with uncertainty.

Jace had been assigned to go with them after the Inquisitor’s party nearly got lost in the desert. Twice. The boy was a good scout, if inexperienced in other areas. His sense of direction and memory for landmarks were excellent, along with a healthy dose of speed and endurance. However, he was a mediocre fighter at best and his social skills were decidedly lacking. The Inquisitor still liked him though.

“What was Hawke like, Varric?” Faydren suddenly mused. “I’ve read your book, but I’d like to hear it from you.”

“I’m surprised the Circle allowed mages to read the Tale of the Champion, considering the ending,” the dwarf wiped at the sweat on his forehead.

“Um… they didn’t. I had friends who sneaked me a copy. They knew how much I enjoyed your other-” She cut off too late. The damage had been done.

“What’s this I hear? The great Inquisitor is a fan?” His expression was beyond smug.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself…” she grumbled.

“I still can't believe what a troublemaker you were!” Dorian had apparently been listening in.

“Inquisitor!” Jace sounded excited. She hadn’t even seen him run ahead, but now he was waving them to the corner of the cliff face they’d been following.

The four joined him, gazing across the barren waste until they spotted what he did – a keep. It looked old and mostly abandoned aside from several heavily armored individuals guarding the gate. They’d found it.

“Jace, go back to the camp quickly and have them send word to Skyhold. We may need a larger force to take it, but there should be enough supplies inside to hold everyone over until a more permanent solution is found,” Faydren was a bit enthusiastic as well. Having a presence here would almost certainly please the advisers.

“Yes, Your Worship,” he nodded quickly and hurried away.

“What are _we_ gonna do, Boss?” Bull raised an eyebrow.

“I thought we might search around a bit for possible food or water sources. Maybe keep an eye on their movements. There was a cave in the cliff a ways back that we could use for camp,” she looked at the others hopefully. It had sounded like a good plan in her head.

“Not bad, Stormcloud,” Varric nodded. “Worth a try at least until our supplies get low.”

“And hopefully we can avoid getting lost with a stronghold for a landmark,” Dorian joked.

“Oh, shit…”

Everyone turned to see what Varric was focusing on. A group of three Venatori was headed for the keep’s gate, dragging a struggling fourth person with them. The captive’s armor was clearly recognizable, and without a helmet the shaggy brown hair confirmed his identity. Faydren gasped – it was Jace.

In his haste, the scout must have run across the patrol without warning. He was no good in a straight-up fight. They should have stayed with him. It wasn't necessary for them to remain here. Since he was captured and not killed, they probably planned to torture him for information. The Inquisitor grit her teeth.

“Poor kid… We should head back to deliver the message ourselves before they get too much advance warning,” Bull said with regret while Dorian and Varric nodded reluctantly. There was no response. “Boss?”

Faydren was already gone. Sliding down the sandy hill, she stumbled a bit at the bottom before taking off across the dry, cracked earth.

***

“Well. I suppose we should have seen that coming,” Dorian remarked breathlessly.

The Tevinter was right, but Varric was too busy running to formulate a response. The path Stormcloud chose was a good call. It seemed like a dry creek bed, but was deep enough to block any line of sight from the keep. Even Bull was able to move at full height. Based off the turns they’d made, the group should be somewhere around the back of the fort now. With her head start, Varric and the others hadn’t even been able to catch up yet.

Rounding one last corner, they spotted her. The gully had grown shallower, allowing Faydren to peek over the edge. Bull marched toward her and was about to say something, but Varric saw her frown and put a finger to her lips. She was right. They were close enough now that the sound of their voices might carry. The rogue grinned at her cleverness. By getting them this close, she had eliminated the option of arguing with her. Now they could either follow and help or sit back and wait.

As he watched, she pointed up at the keep. On this side, it was actually sitting on more of a cliff. The ground didn’t even out until about halfway to the front. Following her finger more closely, he spotted it too – there was some sort of cave or tunnel in the rock leading under the keep. It was worth investigating, and definitely better than storming the front gate.

Varric followed his friends up a path that was barely visible among the rocks. Faydren picked her way carefully, and Bull’s face was still a disapproving glare. Dorian met the dwarf’s eyes with a grin, obviously appreciative of the Inquisitor’s cunning as well. Of course, this was still a terrible idea.

Entering the cave, he soon found himself wading through stagnant, ankle-deep water. The smell nearly made him gag. Based on the bucket hanging down from a hole in the ceiling further in, this used to be a well for the stronghold. Wild gesturing and hand motions ensued as the group decided how to approach this. What they came up with was far from optimal and relied heavily on nobody paying attention to the well’s opening. But the Inquisitor was determined.

Thankfully the well wasn’t terribly deep. Varric’s shoulders just barely cleared its rim as he held Bianca up and aimed carefully. He wobbled a bit, reaching a hand out to steady himself against the stone. The dwarf’s lips were twitching with barely-contained laughter as he thought about how ridiculous they must look.

Varric’s left foot was being held up by Dorian, while Faydren held his right. Both of them were standing on the shoulders of a very disgruntled Iron Bull, who was focusing intently on keeping them all from toppling over. This was going to make for such a great story later… Assuming they survived, of course.

Lining up the shot again, he sent a bolt straight into the neck of one of the wall guards. Nobody seemed to notice him slump to the ground. Varric did the same thing to two more guards without much trouble. Luck ran out on the last one – instead of falling forward or straight down, the body dropped into the courtyard with a reverberating crash.

Shouts of alarm went up all around and more men swarmed into the open area housing the well. Dorian immediately cast a barrier. Bianca took down a couple more before Varric heard a growing growl from beneath him.

“Ah, screw it!” Bull bellowed.

The dwarf barely scrambled out of the well on his own before the other two were launched up through the opening, tumbling over the ledge and landing awkwardly on the ground. Dorian's face was in the dirt with his rear sticking skyward, and Stormcloud was blinking at him upside down from a contortionist position practically on her head. She slowly fell over onto her side before struggling to her feet. This time Varric couldn't hold back his boisterous laughter.

The rope groaned as Iron Bull heaved himself up and out of the well before its wooden mechanism snapped. He planted his feet and rolled his shoulders before grabbing the greataxe from its holster. With a roar, he charged the few Venatori brave enough to move in and crushed them with a single swing. There were shouts calling to fall back and the rest retreated up a set of stairs leading further in. The Qunari rested the axe on his shoulder with a smirk as Dorian stood up, brushing dirt off his robes.

“Is the posturing entirely necessary?” The Tevinter sighed.

“After the stunt we just pulled? Abso-friggin-lutely,” Bull grinned hugely.

“Tiny has a point,” Varric was still chuckling.

“Guys... Jace?” Faydren brought back the focus. They could fully enjoy this later.

Lucky for them, the Venatori either hadn't placed many men here or they were all out doing whatever it was that they were trying to do in this blasted place. The Inquisitor's team pushed on, swiftly breaking through any resistance they met along the way until they'd reached the top level of the keep.

Jace was being held on his knees by two soldiers as a man in dark hooded robes held a flaming hand inches away from the boy's terrified face. Varric could immediately see the change in Faydren as her aura kicked into high gear, eyes crackling with energy.

“Back away from the boy!” She barked with authority.

The spellbinder turned his head to them slowly, eyes glinting in the shadows of his hood. The fire on his hand went out and he gestured curtly. The soldiers holding Jace dragged the scout to a small cell in the corner and tossed him in, locking the door. He landed with a grunt before getting to his knees and grabbing the bars.

“My lady, what are you doing?!”

“Stay quiet, Jace. We'll be done here soon,” Faydren's eyes remained fixed on the enemy mage. Varric could tell she was trying to get a read on him.

“Oh you think so, do you?” The man's voice was smooth and confident. “Well I can see why you might, when so far all you've faced are a bunch of INCOMPETENT IDIOTS.”

The shouting was obviously intended for the Venatori lackeys surrounding him and they flinched away. Varric grew uneasy. This man was clearly powerful on his own, and the numbers were still not in their favor. For now, he seemed content just berating his own allies.

“You lot are pathetic. I didn't even have enough time to get any useful information out of our guest. Look at him! How much time do you think I needed, hm?” Those dark eyes turned back to the Inquisitor. If he knew who she was, he didn't let on. “Now we'll have to kill these ones so I may carry on uninterrupted. Perhaps their deaths will inspire more cooperation...”

Varric was unsurprised when Stormcloud called a lightning bolt straight down on his head. She didn't much care for talking with someone she had every intention of killing. The surprise came when the hooded man merely stumbled a bit from the impact, but remained unharmed. He cackled with great amusement, the barrier around him flashing before turning transparent once more. Faydren growled in frustration.

“Oh but you are a feisty one! This should be fun.”

Varric and the rest dodged out of the way as a fireball launched from his hand and exploded where they'd been standing. He was still close enough to feel the heat. Dorian's barrier gave them some leeway, but even that wouldn't last forever. Taking aim with Bianca, he pegged two of the remaining soldiers. They had to focus on taking out the foot-soldiers first.

Bull, Dorian, and Varric slowly began wiping out the Venatori. The spellbinder was enthralled with Faydren, so she did her best to draw his fire away from the others. The rogue tried to keep one eye on her just in case she got pinned down, but so far she was deftly dodging all the attacks and throwing back some of her own when the opportunity presented. They all deflected harmlessly off the man's barrier. He was focused on a particularly troublesome assassin when he heard her call out.

“Varric!”

The dwarf turned his head in time to see a blaze of flame that sent him crashing into a stack of crates. What was left of his barrier kept the fire from touching him at least. It seemed Hood had caught on to their strategy, as he was now firing at all of them in turn. Bull was blocked off by a wall of fire strategically placed to keep him out of melee range; Dorian was struggling to keep up his barrier while preventing a volley of projectiles from reaching Jace's cell; and Faydren was dancing around with the assassin who apparently thought Varric was taken care of.

Aiming Bianca, he fired two bolts at the spellbinder in quick succession. They glanced off and Varric cursed. He may not have enough firepower to get that barrier down. With a smirk, the hooded man raised a hand in his direction. _Shit._ With his own barrier gone, the rogue would have to rely on dodging alone.

Before the blast came, a savage cry echoed across the battlefield. Varric spotted the blue streak he recognized as Stormcloud's fade step shoot towards the mage, stopping just short of him as a golden sword materialized in her hand. The man's jaw dropped in surprise as she swung the blade with great force. Sparks flew as it connected with the barrier, and for a moment it seemed to stop – but then the edge sliced through and the barrier shattered. If he hadn't stumbled backward, the sword likely would have taken off the spellbinder's head. As it was, he escaped with only a minor gash across the chest.

Varric watched in confusion as a smile slowly grew on the man's face. A fiery glyph flared to life beneath the Inquisitor's feet. A gout of flame erupted around her as she attempted to jump away, the force of it throwing her backwards and over the battlements.

“Faydren!” Varric cried out helplessly.

The mage was laughing hysterically, even as two bolts embedded themselves in his chest. A sickly purple aura crept across his skin and his severed head fell to the ground, rolling a few inches before it -and his body- exploded into an acrid black mist. Bull didn't even bother wiping the gore off as the three ran to where their friend had fallen over.

There was a shared sigh of relief and disbelief at what they found. Faydren was about ten feet down, hanging on desperately to the hilt of her spirit blade. She had stabbed it into the stone to stop her fall. There were some minor burns on her hands and face, but she appeared otherwise unharmed. Her fade shield must have been active when the mine went off.

“A little help?” Faydren's voice was strained, but she managed a small smile.

“Your luck never ceases to amaze, my dear,” Dorian sighed happily.

After they'd found a way to get her back up and released Jace from his cell, the five of them just sat down against the battlements in exhaustion. Varric marveled at the fact that, yet again, they had managed not to die while doing something completely reckless. He chuckled. Cullen was gonna be so pissed. Jace had been mostly silent since they got him out. The poor kid was obviously stuck between shame at needing to be rescued and gratitude that the rescue actually came.

“Your Worship?” He finally said quietly.

“Yes, Jace?” Faydren had been sitting with her eyes closed, but she opened one to look at him.

“Why did you come for me?”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“I'm just a scout. I'm no strategist, but I know it would have been smarter to go back for more help.”

“I happen to like my scouts, Jace. I'd prefer not to lose any if it can be avoided,” she closed her eye again. Jace looked at the rest of them, dumbfounded.

“Yes, she's serious,” Dorian laughed.

“Stormcloud tends to get attached,” Varric shook his head with a grin.

“For better or worse,” Iron Bull quipped.

“Hey, we got a new keep out of it,” she retorted.

They found some food and drink and rested up for a few hours before Iron Bull and Jace left for the Inquisition camp. With the well closed up and the gates shut, the other three shouldn't have any trouble holding Griffon Wing Keep until they returned. Soon they would have their own foothold in the Western Approach. Varric just hoped Cullen didn't kill him when they got back.


	11. Dust Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New friends and old - the Western Approach is pretty exciting for a desert...

Knight-Captain Rylen looked around with a critical eye. Griffon Wing Keep was going to need a lot of work before he considered it up to snuff. The well was completely shot. Damned Venatori idiots had dropped corpses into it and spoiled the water. Half the structures within the walls were scorched or smashed to bits. The Inquisitor certainly hadn’t messed around when she took the place.

Speaking of which, he had yet to see her. Apparently her group had run off again as soon as the troops started arriving. Rylen sighed. How on earth did the Commander expect him to keep an eye on her? She was the bloody Inquisitor! It’s not like he could put a tail on her without _somebody_ getting curious.

The Knight-Captain was actually a bit nervous about meeting her… With Cullen holding down the fort at Skyhold, it was usually more beneficial for Rylen to coordinate from a secondary location. As a result of this, he hadn’t even really seen their leader much less spoken with her. What was she like?

Shrugging, he headed up the stairs leading to the top level. His eye was caught by some men across the keep struggling to erect a wooden platform that bridged a gap in the ramparts. They were yelling at each other in annoyance.

“Oi!” He barked at them, voice carrying easily. They froze. “We need that thing built and built well! If it falls again, I’ll know exactly who to tear into so keep that in mind!”

“Hello.”

Rylen spun toward the voice, about to royally chew out whoever was not working on their assigned duties. He caught himself, mouth partway open, as he identified the speaker. The descriptions hadn’t done her justice. Even coated in dust, the Inquisitor made for a sight. Her strange grey-purple eyes met his calmly.

“I- Inquisitor! You’re back,” he stammered, but quickly regained his military composure. “We weren’t sure when to expect you. We’ve been making good progress, but Griffon Wing is still far from fully restored.”

As if meeting her wasn’t intimidating enough, she was accompanied by another three of the Inquisition’s most powerful members. Rylen had met Varric in passing prior to the Inquisition’s forming, and the dwarf gave a slight wave. The Qunari mercenary and the Tevinter mage were what gave him pause, though all of them seemed perfectly comfortable together.

“Been having much trouble with the locals?” Iron Bull asked amiably.

“Since the well was spoiled by the previous tenants, we’ve been looking for an alternate water source. One has been found so far, though the varghests are proving troublesome. There’s still some Venatori running around doing Maker knows what. And darkspawn have also been spotted further out.”

“We haven't met, have we?” The Inquisitor tilted her head curiously. “What's your name? Where are you from?”

“I beg your pardon, Inquisitor. Knight-Captain Rylen at your service,” he bowed smartly. “I served with the Templars in Starkhaven until they all ran off to the hills, barking at the moon. Commander Cullen offered me a job, and I was glad to do anything to help stop all this madness.”

“I recognize the name. The Commander thinks quite highly of you. It’s nice to finally meet,” she said warmly. “What is it that you do exactly?”

“Well, I am Commander Cullen's second-in-command,” Rylen continued explaining, surprised that she seemed so interested in speaking with him. “As such, I handle logistics for many of our more high-risk missions. I also coordinate reports for the commander from agents out in the field.”

“That sounds quite important,” Faydren nodded before frowning in thought. “Why would he send you all the way out here?”

The Knight-Captain paused uncertainly. A look at her companions’ smug expressions said they were completely aware of the full reasoning behind Cullen’s decision. Somehow he doubted she’d appreciate knowing it was partly to keep an eye on her, so he decided to leave that part out.

“This is a good tactical location. With me here and Cullen in Skyhold, we have greatly expanded the reach of our forces,” he was relieved that the answer seemed to satisfy her. Varric winked slyly.

“I see…”

“Your Worship!”

Rylen watched Jace run up with a thrilled smile on his face as Faydren turned to greet him. The young scout had been checking regularly to see if the Inquisitor had returned. He was clearly quite attached to her – understandably so, if his full report was accurate. For a moment Rylen was sure the boy was actually going to _hug_ her, but he stopped just short of that. Thank the Maker. Watching the two chat, the Knight-Captain tried to figure out what it was about her…

The Inquisitor didn’t have the bearing or natural authority of a military leader like Cullen or Cassandra. Nor did she seem prone to using charm and charisma like the Ambassador. There was no sign of the fearful respect gained through use of cunning and shady dealings. What he saw was a forthright, caring young woman who somehow inspired loyalty from the most diverse group he’d ever seen... by accident. He shook his head incredulously. Definitely not what he expected.

“So, how mad was Curly anyway?” Varric had moved to stand next to him, and Faydren was out of earshot as Jace dragged her away to show off something.

“If I could guess based on the message I got and the ungodly terror on the messenger’s face, I’d say there was steam coming out of his ears,” Rylen chuckled.

“Does he actually think you’ll be able to keep her out of trouble?”

“Maker, I hope not…”

***

Ever since her first night drinking with the Chargers, Faydren loved hanging out with the crazy mercenaries. They were one of the few groups who didn’t just treat her like ‘The Inquisitor’. When she heard they were coming to the Western Approach to help clear the place out, she decided to stay at least long enough to see them. They did not disappoint.

“I’ve never seen someone so bad at cards!” Dalish howled with mirth.

“These games are just so much pressure…” Faydren sighed. She had just folded again, and her allotted money pile was looking quite small.

“Pressure? I’ve seen you face down the Chief in Archon without breaking a sweat,” Krem shook his head, grinning.

“Yes, well, Archon doesn’t make me bet anything…”

Grim grunted and showed his cards, getting boos and complaints from the rest of the table as he collected the pot yet again. There was drinking and jokes all around as they continued to play. The small storeroom they'd commandeered in the keep barely held the group of them, but that didn't stop the fun.

Faydren was the only non-Charger there since the others had decided to entertain themselves elsewhere. Even Bull was absent, and she heard the guys joke about seeing him run off with some redhead. They'd been carousing long enough that everyone was a bit buzzed before Dalish piped up with an idea.

“Oooooh, let's go out huntin'!”

“Hunting? But it's dark out,” Skinner said matter-of-factly.

“So? I really want to use my bowww,” she pleaded.

“It's a nice night. I wouldn't mind a jaunt in the desert while it's not blazing,” Stitches jumped in the conversation.

Grim grunted in an agreeable way and Rocky shrugged.

“Well, what do you think, Inquisitor? Care for a stroll?” Krem laughed.

“Sure, why not,” she smiled.

 

The desert was beautiful at night if the wind was calm. The moon practically seemed to fill the sky as it turned the sands into a pale, pristine ocean. The seven of them walked around casually, occasionally sharing drinks from a bottle they'd brought with. Dalish pranced about with her 'bow', taking magical pot shots at Fennecs and other small creatures. She even went so far as to draw back her arm along the staff and make a 'Pew' arrow noise when she cast.

Nobody really paid attention to the time as they wandered, eventually stopping at the edge of a craggy precipice to gaze out over the landscape. A shallow watering hole glittered below, supporting a sparse amount of brush along its shores. The keep was just a hazy shadow in the distance. Even Dalish took a break from her hunting to admire the moment with them in silence. So nobody noticed as a small sphere bounced across the sand behind them.

It exploded with a pop, filling the air around them with a dark cloud. Faydren coughed violently and tried to wave the smoke aside. She could barely see the Chargers still next to her, much less any possible attackers further away. There was a thud as Stitches dropped to the ground at her feet. Her head grew fuzzy and she started to wobble. A hand grabbed her shoulder roughly and turned her. It was Krem.

“Sleeping powder!” He shouted around the hand covering his mouth. Skinner fell next. The powder plus the alcohol was taking them out fast.

“But why?” She was feeling too sleepy to ask a better question. The lieutenant ignored it, turning his head to shout.

“Dalish! On my voice!”

“Gotcha!” A barrier sprung to life around him and Faydren as he looked at her with a grim smile, hand still on her shoulder.

“Sorry, Your Worship. The Chief would have our hides if we let anything happen to you. Can’t say I’d be too happy with us either.”

Krem gave a hard shove and Faydren's eyes went wide as she felt nothing but empty air behind her. The sleeping powder finally kicked in and everything slowly faded to black - but not before she saw Krem slump to the ground.

 

Faydren's head was pounding as she felt something wet and fuzzy nuzzle her face. Her eyes opened to find a young Fennec staring at her with great interest. She lifted a hand gently and he sniffed it a couple times before running off. The mage groaned as the rest of her body started screaming at her. It was still dark. Why was she on the ground out here?

Eyes wandering up the rocks, the memory hit her and she jolted up. Ignoring the pain, she staggered to her feet. It hurt to breathe. Shit, it hurt to do anything. The barrier cushioned the fall enough to prevent significant injury and lacerations, but her ribs were definitely bruised (among other things). _The Chargers_...

Faydren stumbled along the cliff face until she found a path back up to where they had been. The remains of the powder bomb were still there, along with the bottle they were drinking from, but there was no blood and no bodies. She realized with relief that meant they were probably still alive. Where were they taken though? And why? She had to get back to the keep.

 

Krem tossed a small pebble up in the air before catching it again, repeating the action as he contemplated. Dalish, Grim, Rocky, Skinner, and Stiches were all in the cell with him – angry, but mostly unharmed. Based on the state of the place, it must have been the ruins of some ancient prison. The dried up skeletons in the adjacent cell seemed to support his theory.

Based on what he gathered from the guard's conversations, these Venatori were trying to excavate something here but had run low on workers due to darkspawn attacks and the Inquisition forces. Since the Chargers didn't wear any official Inquisition gear, the slave hunters must have assumed they were random travelers. That was a good thing at least, otherwise they might have just been killed on sight. Would've deserved it too for getting so careless.

Krem leaned his head back against the bars and closed his eyes, sighing. Hopefully the Inquisitor made it out alright. That drop couldn't have been pleasant, but the barrier should have held well enough. Even if she was fine though, there was no way for her to follow. A rescue was probably out of the question at this point. Angry grumbling approached and the door to the cell beside him squeaked open.

“Get in there, you!” The guard snapped.

Krem heard him shove someone and they fell to the ground behind him. The door slammed shut and footsteps left the room hastily. Sounded like they'd caught some other poor sap.

“Not even a hello, lieutenant?” A familiar voice spoke behind him. His eyes flew open and he spun around to see Faydren smiling painfully up at him from the floor, hands bound.

“Your Worship!” He knelt down as his cellmates exchanged unhappy glances. “The idea was for you _not_ to get yourself captured, you know.”

“Come now, Krem, don't I deserve a little more credit than that?”

The rope around her hands froze and she shattered it easily before getting to her feet with a wince. Shouting and screams echoed across the room, quickly cut short by the sound of crunching armor and a victorious roar. Krem knew that roar. So did the rest of the Chargers, and they quickly got to their feet.

“It's the Chief!” Stitches shouted with a grin.

“You let yourself get caught to lead them here...” Krem shook his head. It was more cunning than he'd come to expect from her. But then, Archon _was_ her game of choice. “I can't believe they actually let you do it yourself.”

“It wasn't difficult to convince them that I happen to be the least suspicious-looking of the four of us,” she raised an eyebrow.

The lieutenant couldn't argue that point as the rest of her team charged into view – they were all a bit conspicuous. He felt a wave of relief at seeing Iron Bull, even though he knew the Chief was gonna yell at him for this later. Dorian swaggered over with a key ring dangling from his finger, a sly smirk on his face as he spoke.

“Fancy meeting you here!”

“Oh just get them out already,” Bull growled. He paused to nod at them. “Good to see you, Chargers.”

“Fine,” Dorian fiddled with the lock but Krem heard him mumble. “Crazy ox-man.”

“Dirty Vint,” the Chief shot back.

Krem was surprised how well the two got along, considering Bull held no love for Tevinters. Before Dorian, the Chargers lieutenant was the only 'Vint' the Qunari would associate with. It just went to show that the Inquisitor was good at picking her allies.

With everyone free and decked out in their equipment once more, the group headed for the exit. However, they were not expecting to find the place suddenly swarming with darkspawn. Krem had fought darkspawn before but it was never pleasant. Plus, you had to be extra careful not to ingest any of their blood. There weren’t enough working together to give them trouble though.

“Okay, now what the heck are these doing here?” Varric kicked one of the dead ones.

“Well, Rylen did say they had to be coming from somewhere,” Bull replied.

“It doesn't matter. We can come back and deal with them later,” Dorian turned toward the exit and stopped. The passageway had collapsed into a pile of rubble. “I may be mistaken, but isn't that the way we came in?”

“Sure is, Sparkler.”  
“Venhedis...”

“You can say that again,” Krem stared with them at the blocked escape route.

“If the Venatori and the darkspawn were both using this place, and they managed not to run into each other before, wouldn't that mean there's another exit?” Faydren panted, wincing again. That fall had not been kind.

“You're right,” Skinner spoke this time, pointing the other direction. “I can hear them. And... something else as well.”

“Guess we're going that way then,” Rocky chimed in before grumbling a bunch of Dwarven expletives regarding darkspawn.

They rushed down the hallways, wiping out any darkspawn in their path. They stumbled onto a large hole that Rocky pointed out as a probable entrance to the Deep Roads. Krem was impressed as he watched Faydren and Dorian seal the opening with their magic, using the rubble to create a thick wall.

When they finally reached what seemed to be the opposite end of the prison, the ground shook for a moment and a loud muffled roar came through the wall. Everyone paused and looked around uneasily. That was rarely a good sign...

Krem was closest to the final double doors and approached them cautiously. Opening them just a crack, another roar blasted through the prison. He slammed the doors shut again quickly and planted his back against them as the others approached.

“What is it?” Varric didn't sound like he really wanted to know.

“Well, I found out why the darkspawn started using the other exit,” Krem offered. Something slammed against the doors with enough force that he stumbled forward. “We might want to move away!”

The last of them had barely made it back around the corner when the two massive doors went sailing across the room, smashing to the floor with a loud clang. The ground trembled beneath their feet as one final foe stomped into the room.

“A _giant_?” Bull actually sounded excited.

Krem shook his head with a grin. The Chief always did enjoy killing the big stuff. It spotted them and gave an angry snarl before picking up one of the broken doors. Barriers were cast immediately. The Qunari shouted a single word.

“Scatter!”

The group split in all directions as the giant launched his ammo at them. Dorian and Grim had to dive the last couple feet to avoid getting hit. Bull and Krem wasted no time going for the beast’s legs, hacking away to little effect and avoiding its clumsy swipes. Arrows and magic peppered its head and torso but only made it angrier.

Grim and Stitches had moved into melee while Skinner and Dalish stayed back with the Inquisitor’s ranged fighters. The lieutenant spotted Rocky working away at something near the wall and quickly caught on to the dwarf’s plan. The rest of the Chargers did too, because they started making their way out of the passage and into the large room with the exit. It didn’t look like Faydren and the others had figured out the plan but they stuck with the Chargers anyway.

They were fighting it under the archway between the room and the hallway now. The dwarf sapper was fiddling on the opposite side now. The giant grunted and slammed its arms onto the ground, knocking the warriors off their feet. A blast of fire in its face caused it to snarl and stagger back before it could take advantage of their prone state.

“Rocky?” Bull shouted as he jumped up.

“Ready!”

“Bring it down!”

Everyone focused their attacks on the giant’s right leg and it shouted in pain before dropping to its knees. Krem and the other melee dashed away from it as explosions went off at the wall’s corners. With a great rumble, the archway collapsed and buried the creature under a mountain of rubble.

There was a moment of silence as the dust settled, but the giant made no move to rise. A cheer went up as everyone patted each other on the back. The Inquisitor’s eyes were wide with astonishment.

“Wow,” was all she said.

“Impressive!” Dorian clapped appreciatively with a laugh.

“Certainly one way to take down a giant,” Varric shook his head, smiling.

“Venatori, darkspawn, _and_ a giant - this turned out to be a great run!” Iron Bull sounded extremely satisfied.

The path to the exit was now open and they made their way out, joking and chatting excitedly. Bull lingered, putting a large hand on Krem’s shoulder to hold him back from the others. Here it was. The Chief was about to lecture him for sure. The lieutenant looked up expectantly.

“Good work with the Inquisitor, Krem.”

“Chief?” He blinked. Praise was the last thing he expected.

“She was a little banged up, but you got her out,” Bull gave him a serious nod before smirking. “Don’t tell her I said that though – she’s already pissed.”

“She’s pissed?”

“Of course I am,” a voice spoke from the door as Faydren stepped through. She must have come back to check on them. “You _did_ push me off a cliff.”

Her tone was serious, but Krem saw a twinkle in her eye as she punched him in the arm.

“Right. Sorry about that,” he grinned.

“Let’s get out of here. The rest are waiting,” she shook her head and went back outside.

Bull winked at him and followed. Krem kept grinning as he walked after them. They may be getting paid to work for the Inquisition, but he couldn’t help feeling that was just an excuse to stay at this point. The Inquisitor was good people. He’d be fine staying for free.


	12. Lightning Strikes Twice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a surprising turn once Faydren and the others get back from the Western Approach

It was good to be back at Skyhold. Varric was relaxing in the Herald's Rest, cleaning Bianca and enjoying a pretty decent mug of ale. It seemed like he’d never be able to get all the sand out of his crossbow after their time in the Western Approach (he didn’t even want to think about his boots). After a solid hour though, she was looking about as good as new. He sighed in satisfaction, glancing up to see Cullen enter and scan the room as though looking for someone. Eyes landing on Varric, he made his way over.

“Hey there, Curly,” Varric said easily. “Need something?”

“Hello, Varric,” Cullen nodded a greeting. “Have you seen the Inquisitor since you got back?”

“No. Did you forget to tell her something when you met earlier?”

“Pardon?” The Commander blinked.

“Last time I saw Stormcloud, she was running off in response to that message you sent,” the dwarf shrugged.

“Varric-” Cullen’s tone was uneasy and the rogue looked at him sharply. “I never sent a message.”

“Andraste’s ass!” Varric checked Bianca’s readiness and grabbed his coat off the chair, shrugging it on as he headed for the door. Cullen stayed right on his heels.

“Who delivered the message?”

“One of the Inquisition runners.”

“Would you recognize them?”

“They all kind of look alike, but I think so.”

The two of them stormed into the barracks and checked with each of the runners currently on call. None of them admitted to delivering a message, and Varric confirmed they didn’t quite fit what he remembered. There were a couple messengers out on assignment, but that didn’t help them right then. Walking out, the pair was only slightly calmer than when they entered.

“Maybe we’re over-thinking this, Curly,” Varric attempted. “It could be a simple misunderstanding. Stormcloud is probably up on the ramparts watching us make fools of ourselves.”

“I don’t think so.”

Cullen’s voice was grim and Varric followed his eyes to where some of Leliana’s ravens were congregating beside a group of barrels in the shade of a storage shed. Further investigation revealed a semi-fresh corpse slumped out of sight. Varric’s heart sank and he met Cullen’s eyes with a nod. It was the girl who’d delivered the message – and there was an arrow pierced cleanly through her eye.

“Dammit!” Cullen snarled, slamming his fist against the shed with such force that Varric heard the wood crack. “Inform Leliana and the rest with this, but don’t let word spread. I’ll meet you all in the War Room.”

The dwarf watched him stalk off in the direction of his office before taking a deep breath and setting out on his task. This was not going to be easy… especially telling Iron Bull and Dorian. They were there when Faydren got the message too. And all three of them had missed it.

***

Cullen strode into the War Room, eyes taking in the concerned faces surrounding the table. This was the sort of thing nobody expected to happen, least of all right under their noses. Vivienne was in Orlais dealing with some nobles; Solas was researching Elven artifacts in the Dales; Sera was taking care of some Red Jenny business in Denerim; and Blackwall was on a recruiting run. The rest of them were there in that room, wondering what they were going to do.

“Whoever planned this knew how not to leave tracks,” Leliana was frustrated. “I’ve been able to recover nothing past your initial findings. Killing the messenger cut off our one line of questioning.”

“Did any of you see the message? Maybe where it told her to go?” Josephine was trying to sound hopeful. Iron Bull, Dorian, and Varric all shook their heads.

“You are a trained spy, are you not, Bull? And nothing raised your suspicions?” Cassandra’s tone was accusing.

“Sorry if I was distracted by the Tevinter whining in my ear about all the sand in his mustache,” the Qunari growled.

“Me?! You were the one raving like a madman about that dragon!” Dorian snapped.

“Now is not the time!”

Cullen brought his hand down on the table with a resounding smack, cutting off any further bickering as they all grew ashamed. They knew he was right. Reaching carefully into his vest, he seemed to hesitate for a moment.

“I have a way to find her.”

Around the table, expressions ranged from shock to disgust as he brought out a small, elaborate glass vial filled with a deep crimson liquid. Even he grew uncomfortable holding it, the blood’s warmth permeating his glove.

“A _phylactery_?” Dorian said acidly.

“I know you used to be a Templar, Cullen, but isn’t that taking things a bit far?” Bull admonished.

“If you did not trust the Inquisitor-” Cassandra began to speak.

“She asked me to,” Cullen cut them off. “The Inquisitor was concerned about eventualities such as this one. She requested that it be made soon after we reached Skyhold.”

“Why weren’t we told?” Leliana’s eyes were searching.

“Lady Trevelyan knew that some of you may be unhappy with the decision. It was meant to be a last resort, so she kept it between us,” Cullen sighed. He’d known this was going to be unpleasant.

“Will it work?” Varric was looking at the Commander intently.

“It should, yes,” Cullen gave a firm nod.

“Then I don’t care what it is. Let’s go get our Inquisitor back.”

The dwarf’s bluntness put things back into perspective for the rest of the group. Looks were shared all around. Blame got them nowhere. They needed to work together on this. Leliana and Josephine would stay behind to collect information and call back the rest of the inner circle. If anything went wrong, they’d need a backup plan.

Cullen would take Cassandra, Cole, Varric, Bull, and Dorian with him to find the Inquisitor. The Seeker was fully capable of tracking mages herself, but thankfully nobody brought that fact up. He would likely go crazy if asked to remain behind. Even now, his throat was dry and his chest was twisting itself into knots.

They agreed to meet at the gates in ten minutes as everyone prepared. The room emptied except for Cullen, who was staring down at the vial in his hand. He focused, trying to calm his mind and his breathing.

She was still alive. The blood in the phylactery remained warm and glowing. If they’d just wanted her dead, the trap would have been unnecessary. If it was information they desired, she’d not yet given it. She was still alive.

 _Dammit_. He clenched his eyes shut and grit his teeth.

***

The Inquisitor's companions walked in relative silence. The mood was tense and everyone kept to their own thoughts while trying not to imagine the worst. Iron Bull was no different in that respect, but he was capable of turning his mind elsewhere when needed. It was a skill he'd picked up quickly while dealing with life on Seheron - and one he was glad to have right now.

Though he could avoid thinking about future possibilities, the past still plagued him. That message... He should have known. When he thought back, there were signs that something wasn't right – a shift in the eyes of the messenger, Faydren running off to meet Cullen in the opposite direction from Skyhold. This whole thing could have been prevented, and it pissed him off.

From what Bull could tell, they were heading deeper into the Frostback Mountains. Cullen had been pushing at a hard but steady pace, leading from the front with phylactery in hand. It was obvious that he wanted to go faster, but as a commander he knew that they needed to keep up their strength in case they ran into resistance recovering Faydren.

The others were as reluctant to make stops as the Templar, pushing on without complaint even when the wind bit through their clothing like it was nothing. Not even Dorian said a word about the cold, though Bull could see the man's teeth chattering. They were forced to halt in a cave once by blizzard conditions, and the group tried to sleep as best they could for a few hours before pressing on.

It was nearly a full day's travel before they reached a valley almost completely obscured by mist. If Cullen hadn't been using the magical blood, they may not have even seen it from the mountain path above. It was surprisingly warm on the valley floor and a thick fog clung to the ground. Their pace quickened as though everyone knew they had to be getting close.

The shadowy form of a ruin materialized through the mists, stark and imposing as it loomed overhead. They tread carefully across the stone, steps echoing in the emptiness. Bull saw Cullen give a sharp nod - Faydren was definitely here somewhere. All of them grew uneasy. If that was true, where were her captors? Either they didn't expect the Inquisition to be able to find her, or it was a trap and the enemies were waiting for an opportune moment...

Iron Bull looked around suspiciously. There was only one doorway in and out of the main structure and it led to a narrow hallway. If the enemy locked down that exit, nobody would get out alive. Without knowing the size of the attacking force, he couldn't judge how many of them were needed to hold the door. Bull locked eyes with the Commander, who had recognized the issue as well - only one person should go inside to search.

“Go on, Cullen. Find her. We'll keep your exit clear,” Bull urged. The others nodded in agreement and took up defensive positions.

Gratitude filled the man's brown eyes and he rushed into the open doorway, sword in one hand and phylactery in the other. The hallways were close enough quarters to prevent a full ambush, and if the numbers became too much he could fall back to them at the entrance. Bull readied his greataxe. This whole situation was extremely risky, but they had come for the Inquisitor. And they would not be leaving without her.

***

Cullen knew he was getting close now. As distasteful as they may be, phylacteries served their purpose well. The halls were mostly dark except for moonlight streaming in the occasional window and the bright red glow in his hand. He walked with sword drawn, blood glistening on the blade from the one pair of guards he'd encountered.

A heavy wooden door with bars in the window came up on his right. This was the one. He put the phylactery away. Cautiously, Cullen swung the door open and stepped in. The cell held a single occupant. His breath caught when he saw her, and the blade nearly slipped from his hand.

Faydren was stretched to full length by shackles anchoring her wrists and ankles to opposite ends of an upright wooden structure. Her head was down, eyes closed and chin resting on her chest. Moonlight filtered in through a single window, playing softly across exposed skin as she hung there in nothing but tattered smallclothes. A light sheen of sweat coated her body even in the chill air, and each breath created a puff of moisture in the dark.

Cullen tried not to stare, but his eyes were drawn to the soft curves of her figure. Then a pang went through his chest as he noticed something else… scars. They shone pale against her olive skin, a tapestry of pain woven across her entire torso - the smooth slashes from blades, the slight puckers from arrows, the unnatural stretching on her left shoulder from a severe burn. He’d assumed the scar across her face was from Ostwick, but he never imagined her armor hid so many more.

“Inquisitor?” he breathed. She didn’t stir.

“Faydren...” he spoke slightly louder and moved close to her, reaching out a gentle hand to lift her chin.

Faydren's eyes fluttered open, pools of liquid silver as they met his. It was strange to see no hint of violet touching them at all. The shackles must have been made for mages then. She would have been completely at their mercy all this time. The thought sickened him.

“Cullen?” She murmured groggily. Her eyes went wide as she realized it really was him. “No, you have to get out. It's a trap. I heard them talking, and-”

“It's alright. We thought as much.”

Cullen spoke calmly and began trying to unlock her restraints with a set of keys he'd snagged along the way. He released the ankles first, then the wrists. As her arms came free, Faydren's knees buckled and she fell against him. His hands came up instinctively, dropping the sword and resting firmly on her hips to provide support.

The ex-Templar's heart flipped. She was so close. Even with his gloves on, he could somehow feel the softness of her bare skin under his fingers – and the cold. Her hair brushed against his chin. It smelled damp and musty, yet strangely nice. Cullen swallowed hard. He shouldn't let himself get so distracted, but Maker it felt nice just to hold her. Faydren moved to look up at him and he felt the heat radiating from her forehead.

“You're burning up,” concern filled his voice. It shouldn't be surprising considering the temperature and her current amount of clothing.

“It's my own fault...” She pushed away from him with bitter tears in her eyes, and he released her reluctantly. “I shouldn't have been fooled so easily. Now you're all here in danger because of-”

The sound of a small explosion echoed down the hallway, along with shouting and clashing metal. It seemed their enemy had finally shown up.

“We can discuss it later,” Cullen said firmly. The man wanted nothing more than to comfort her, but they'd run out of time. He watched with sadness as she built back up the walls around her emotions.

“Right. Do you still have the keys?” The mage held out a hand, her demeanor now calm and focused. “I think I know where they put my things.”

***

Faydren felt better once her armor was back on, though a chill still stuck with her. She stayed close on Cullen's heels as he navigated the twists and turns of the hallways. Sword and shield were both out and ready, a look of steely determination on his face. Worry nagged at the back of her mind knowing he was in danger, but she couldn't deny that his presence at her side was comforting.

The two turned a corner and he immediately flattened against the wall, throwing an arm out to do the same to her as arrows whizzed down the passage. They ran the rest of the way out into the large courtyard littered with crumbling stone where their friends were fighting a losing battle.

Red Templars were attacking in force - archers lined a second floor balcony while knights swarmed at ground level. The Inquisition fighters were holding the door, but only barely. Most had minor injuries already and were fatigued by the constant barrage of enemies. Relief showed plainly on their faces when they saw her, though it was short-lived.

“Good to see you, Stormcloud!” Varric shouted in between firing bolts, giving her a strained smile. “Our rescue plan ran into a bit of a snag.”

Their leader stood behind the archers, his eyes glowing red. When he spotted Faydren enter, his face broke into a cruel grin and he held up a hand. The corrupted Templars immediately stopped their attack.

“Our honored guest has arrived, men! Now there's no need to hold back,” he smirked.

“What do you mean? What was the point of this?” Faydren snarled at him. “You could have killed me at any time to please Corypheus!”

The man's laugh rang through the courtyard, bouncing harshly off the stone. She cringed.

“The Elder One has his own plans. I'm doing this for _my_ pleasure,” his eyes were wild and filled with loathing. “I want to make you suffer. You – the only mage who escaped us at Ostwick!”

Faydren froze as she stared at him in horror. Could it be? Was this the Templar that had prevented their escape at the Circle? The memory of that night surfaced, and his voice stayed with her still. It was him. He was the reason Darius was dead.

“Seranus!” She snarled with pure hatred, magic swirling around her as lightning began to strike the battlefield. Her companions watched in confused silence.

“You do remember!” That clearly pleased him. “Now watch closely as I take everything from you. Again. And then...? I may take pity on you and end your miserable existence.”

Faydren had no intention of letting that happen. She looked around at all of her friends and nodded once. They understood and prepared themselves – it was time to clear a path. With a twirl of her staff, the mage sent a surge of chain lightning arcing among the soldiers blocking their path. With a hum, her fade shield fizzled into being. She heard Dorian's barrier go up on the rest of them behind her. Next she fade stepped toward the exit, freezing those in her path. Bull took the opportunity to charge into them at full bore, shattering or crushing the chilled enemies. Varric, Cole, and Dorian sprinted along the cleared path, keeping the archers too preoccupied with dodging to shoot. Cassandra and Cullen took up positions on either side, blocking blades that attempted to strike at the group and shield bashing any who got careless.

Using this strategy, they slowly pushed their way toward the gates. The sheer number of Templars was actually working in their favor since the knights didn't have enough room to maneuver properly. The gate was almost in sight and Faydren felt a glimmer of hope. They could make it!

She heard a metallic clinking sound and felt something catch on her armor before she was wrenched from her feet, landing flat on her back.

“Inquisitor!”

Cullen rushed toward her and used his shield to block the downward swing as she scrambled to her feet. Then the world descended into chaos. Faydren swung her spirit blade in wide arcs, occasionally casting more lightning and fade stepping away from sword slashes. She lost sight of the others in the sea of red. Fear gripped her heart, but she focused on keeping herself alive. They were all excellent fighters. They could take care of themselves.

The battle seemed endless, and Faydren's magic was beginning to falter. She managed to attack just enough to replenish her barrier and prevent any fatal blows. Yet with every enemy she killed, more arrived to take his place. Her breathing was ragged and blood ran down into her eyes from a large gash on her forehead.

“Hold!” Seranus' voice rang out once more, and the Templars slowly backed away from her. As they did, she saw that the ones surrounding her were nearly all that was left besides some archers. But if there were only this many, why hadn't the others overcome them by now? Eyes searching the battlefield, her thoughts were quickly answered. Time seemed to stand still, her mind registering only bits and pieces.

Iron Bull motionless on his side, a pool of blood growing around him.

Varric's hand resting limply on his crossbow.

Cassandra's Seeker tunic stained red.

Cole's hat on the ground with an arrow pierced through it.

Dorian's staff broken in two.

“Looks familiar, doesn't it?” A voice taunted, almost directly above her. “Then again, last time you weren't there anymore to see me crush the life out of your friends.”

There was a strangled noise and Faydren's head snapped up to see Seranus holding Cullen by the throat, dangling him over the railing. The Inquisition Commander was covered in blood, arrows sticking out of his shoulder and his shield arm hanging limply at his side. His right hand was tugging on the arm at his throat, but he clearly had no strength left. Pained eyes met hers and he mouthed the word _Run._

“Nobody is escaping me this time…”

With a malicious smirk, Seranus lifted a wicked-looking dagger and plunged it into Cullen's chest, punching through the armor before pulling it out again coated in red. Then he released his grip.

“CULLEN!” The scream was raw agony.

Faydren knew it wouldn't help, but all she could think was that something needed to break his fall. She began to sprint, but there was a sharp pain in her leg as an arrow embedded itself in her thigh. Yelping in pain, she tripped and fell to the ground. She kept her eyes shut, but couldn't block out the crash that echoed on the stone as Cullen hit the ground. When she opened them again he was just lying there, unmoving and eyes closed.

With a whimper, Faydren dragged herself over to him and got to her hands and knees. Tenderly, she brushed her fingers along his face and through his blood-stained blonde hair. This couldn't be happening. Not again. Not after all they had gone through already.

“Nononono,” she murmured the word repeatedly. _Please... I don't want to be alone again._ Great tears fell freely from her eyes, some of them landing on Cullen's face as she leaned down and touched her forehead to his.

“I will admit, you made that more difficult than expected. I lost nearly all my men,” Seranus sighed happily. “Now I only have to finish you off and I can rest easy knowing I did my duty as a Templar.”

“No,” Faydren spat, jaw clenched as she sat back on her heels to glare up at him. The tears kept flowing but her eyes held unbridled fury as she hissed the words. “ _I won't let you take them from me._ ”

White tendrils of visible energy began to swirl around her and the Anchor crackled to life on her hand. Her hair floated in some nonexistent current as her eyes took on a golden luminescence. The Red Templars shifted uncomfortably while glowing energy spread along the ground.

“What is that magic?” Seranus sounded genuinely alarmed. “Kill her now!”

Arrows rained down, but any that struck her simply disintegrated into nothing – including the one already stuck in her leg. They watched the wounds on her forehead and thigh close and vanish with a sizzle. She rose slowly to her feet. The soldiers hesitated, stepping back.

Faydren threw her arms up with a primal cry as a wave of golden light flared from her body and swept across the battlefield. The knights flinched, but it had no effect on them. Relieved, they began to close in on the mage for the final blow. They didn't notice the Inquisition companions around them begin to stir.

***

Cullen felt a rush of warmth. Was he dead? He remembered feeling the dagger enter his chest, but now it felt fine. In fact, everything felt fine. His arm, his shoulder – he couldn't feel a single wound or arrow. His face was wet – were those tears? _Faydren_. Opening his eyes, he jolted to a sitting position. They were still in the courtyard. There were enemies around, but all of them were focused on something else. Or rather, someone.

Eyes widening in shock, Cullen spotted the Inquisitor – he'd never seen her look like that. She was radiating an ethereal golden light, her eyes glowing brightly. Hearing a grunt to his right, the ex-Templar turned to see Iron Bull getting to his feet and reaching for his greataxe. The Qunari was completely unharmed.

A crossbow bolt punched through the helmet of one of the enemy knights advancing on Faydren; there was screaming as flames erupted behind her; a shadowy figure moved along the edges, daggers flashing across throats; and Cassandra ran his way, hand extended to help him up.

“Impossible!” Screamed a voice above them. “Loose more arrows! Charge! Kill her, dammit!”

“Protect the Inquisitor!” Cullen shouted the order, springing into action.

He retrieved a sword and shield from the fallen nearby and began attacking the enemy backs turned to him. Dorian and Varric changed focus to take out the archers, who had left their cover when the fight seemed over. The Commander barely believed his own eyes as he watched arrows find their mark on him and his allies, only to crumble to dust and fade away with no wound to speak of.

Faydren didn't seem to notice any of it, blank gaze straight forward and unflinching. Her arms stretched out at her sides now as the swirling aura of light took the unmistakable shape of wings on her back. She rose from the ground slowly, levitating with an effortless grace until she was floating at balcony level with her focus locked on the fighting. Wave after wave of light swept out from her, giving renewed energy and healing to her companions below. Each time, the aura grew dimmer.

Finally, the archers were dead and Iron Bull was finishing off the last of the knights. The ground and air no longer hummed with energy. All of them stared at each other in confusion, happy to be alive but not sure what had just happened. Cullen looked to see Faydren still hovering, aura barely visible. Movement flashed behind her as Seranus jumped up and nocked an arrow, aiming at her back. The coward must have been playing dead.

“Look out!” Cullen couldn’t tell if she had any power left to heal herself.

Faydren spun in a blur and a flash of light blazed from her left hand. With an angry gurgle, Seranus' torso fell to the ground... followed by his legs. Her spirit blade was at least twice its usual length before it disappeared.

The glow faded completely.

The Inquisitor's eyes slid closed, and she fell.

“Boss!”

Thankfully the Qunari was close enough to sprint and catch her before her body hit the flagstones below. Bull knelt down and placed her gently in an open space while the rest of them moved to join him. Cullen's eyes scanned the courtyard, now covered in blood and bodies in the mist. How had they survived this? He looked to Dorian, frowning.

“What was that? I should be dead. I saw the rest of you-” he hesitated on the word. “Fall. Yet we appear to be completely healed.”

“I- don't know. I didn't think the Inquisitor knew any healing magic.”

“If I remember correctly, Knight-Enchanters are able to learn a healing spell,” Cassandra offered. “But it is meant for a small group. Three people at most. This should not be possible.”

“Dorian!” Bull's voice was urgent and the group crowded in. Faydren was unconscious, face deathly pale and strained as he cradled her head. “I can't find any injuries, but she's not waking up. Also...”

His large hand gently lifted her left arm and Cullen winced. It looked charred. The fabric of her armor was burnt away except for a few tatters. The Anchor glowed and sparked angrily, luminous green cracks expanding out from it and up to her elbow. The edges of the cracks were blackened and heat radiated from them.

“We have to get her back to Skyhold immediately.”

Cullen could hear the fear in Dorian's voice.

***

Faydren's companions sat quietly around a table in the tavern. By their request, the other patrons had been asked to leave for the evening. Varric absentmindedly polished Bianca as his eyes wandered over the other faces. They looked about how he felt. His brow furrowed. That was some trick Stormcloud pulled...

The door opened and all eyes turned as Dorian walked in, brushing droplets of water from his shoulders. Appropriately, it had been dark and rainy since they got back. The dwarf watched Cullen nearly fall out of his chair in his haste to get up.

“What do they think is wrong, Dorian?” The ex-Templar's voice trembled a bit.

“They have no idea,” Dorian sounded perturbed. “I confirmed with Commander Helaine that Faydren was indeed taught Resurgence. Apparently most recruits can only fully cast it after years of training, and the Inquisitor had barely made any progress with it at all. Helaine also agreed that it should not have been possible to cast it on such a grand scale.”

“What exactly do you mean by 'grand scale'?” Cassandra queried.

“It's like this... Every time a mage casts a spell it requires a mixture of skill, willpower, and energy to interact with the Fade and bring forth the desired effect,” the Tevinter coaxed forth a flame in his hand. “In this case, it was a call for help. She requested aid from the spirits capable of healing and created a gateway for them to pass through.”

“That sounds dangerous,” Iron Bull grumbled.

“Normally, no. Those spirits rarely have any higher intelligence and they've no desire to stay in our world for long. However, Faydren was able to call so many and open the gate so wide that her body nearly broke under the strain,” dropping into a chair heavily, Dorian rubbed his eyes in frustration.

“But if that shouldn't be possible, how...” The question hung in the air as Cullen retook his seat also.

“We think it was the Anchor. It gives her a nearly direct link to the Fade, so there's less energy needed to make the call and open the gate,” he sighed. “We also think that's why the mark spread. If you stretch something too far, the original shape may be altered. I'll compare notes with Solas when he gets back.”

“And when do they think she'll wake up?” There was hope in Curly's voice.

“I... there's no guarantee that she'll wake up at all,” Dorian's voice broke. There was a moment of stunned silence.

“What?!” Cullen's hand slammed down on the table. The rest of the group looked sick.

“We have no idea the extent of the damage. It is possible that she broke herself completely,” the dark-haired man was trying valiantly to keep his composure.

“Maker's breath, what was she thinking... Without her, the Inquisition cannot ensure victory against the Elder One. We gave her the chance to save herself and escape. She should have taken it!”

“Come on, Curly... You know she couldn't do that. It's not her nature,” Varric chastened, speaking for the first time.

“The world is at stake!” The pain on that man's face had nothing to do with the world.

“We _are_ her world!” Varric felt himself getting angry. “Without us, that girl has nothing and no one!”

“ _I won't let him take them this time. I won't be alone again_ ,” Cole spoke softly. They all knew whose thoughts he was repeating and the fire went out of the argument.

“Sometimes sacrifices must be made,” the Commander said the words without conviction.

“And just how successful do you think a broken Inquisitor would be against Corypheus?” The Qunari eyed Cullen pointedly.

“I- you're probably right... I just feel so...”

“Guilty?” Cassandra finished for him. “We all do. If she dies, the knowledge that it was for our sake is a heavy burden. But she's not dead yet.”

“I hate just sitting here waiting.”

“Go to her, Cullen. I think your presence would be comforting,” Dorian put a hand on the blonde man's shoulder.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“...Alright,” Cullen got to his feet and left.

“Heh, comforting for which one?” Varric lifted an eyebrow at the Tevinter.

“Mmmm, both.”

“Not gonna tell him why, Sparkler?”

“I believe the Commander needs to find out for himself. Maybe the thought of losing her will be enough to get him to realize...” Dorian's eyes remained on the door. “If he doesn't tell her soon, he may never get the chance. And those two need each other.”

Nobody was willing to speak the fact that it may already be too late.


	13. Dark Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moods around Skyhold remained as overcast as the sky did. Few things are worse than being powerless to help.

It had been days but Faydren still remained unconscious, healers coming and going at all hours. The only promising sign was that the Anchor had begun to recede back down her arm. Everyone was on edge of course, but Cullen was nearly beside himself. He thought what he felt had just been a passing infatuation, but now... Andraste preserve him, he couldn't imagine life without her.

Ever since Dorian suggested it, Cullen sat by her bed whenever he could get away from his duties. This did not go unnoticed, and everyone in Skyhold did their part to make sure he wasn't called from her side. Leliana even went so far as to post agents near the stairs to the Inquisitor's quarters in order to intercept any messages meant for the Commander.

It was another late night, and Cullen's eyes wandered to the Templar pendant sitting on the side table where her caretakers had placed it. He'd noticed it the first night and found its presence strange. Those pendants were only given to full-fledged Templar knights. It was forbidden to give one to any non-Templar unless it was for the family of the deceased. Perhaps she had been... _involved_ with a Templar at Ostwick. The thought made him strangely uncomfortable.

Cullen had asked Adan about it, who confirmed she'd been wearing that necklace since the Conclave. As far as he knew, she never took it off. The alchemist had cursed to himself and dug through a pile of notes until he came up with a folded piece of paper and handed it to Cullen. Apparently she'd had that on her as well and Adan forgot to give it to anyone.

The paper was still folded neatly sitting next to the necklace. Cullen hadn't felt right reading it at the time, but now he was extremely tired and far less inhibited. Picking the note up gently, he opened it and began to read. The contents resulted in a puzzled frown. He got to his feet and strode out into the hallway. This was a question for Leliana.

***

When he got to her desk, Leliana saw the paper in his hand and glared at the scout scurrying behind him. The scout shook her head and Leliana waved the girl away. Cullen didn't say anything before handing her the note. Her eyes scanned its contents before she tilted her head curiously.

“Where did you get this?”

“Adan apparently found it on the Herald when he first treated her in Haven,” Cullen sighed. “And then forgot about it. I believe it’s connected to a pendant she wears. Did you see its imprint in the ink?”

“'Tis strange,” Leliana nodded. “The Inquisitor had no Templar relatives, nor does this name belong to any siblings she does have. However, it does sound familiar...”

The Spymaster turned and dug through the organized chaos on her desk before retrieving what Cullen recognized as the report from Ostwick's Circle. Flipping through the pages, her eyes lit up. She'd found what she was looking for.

“Darius was indeed a Templar at Ostwick for nearly 8 years, stationed there straight out of taking his vows. His record was pristine until the night of the Circle's fall. At that point, a Templar lieutenant by the name of Seranus posthumously branded him a traitor for attempting to assist in the escape of mages. A small number of other Templars were charged with this as well,” Leliana paused as this new connection sunk in. “...We were never sure how she managed to get out.”

“He would have knowledge of any escape routes meant for the Templars themselves,” Cullen agreed. Then he looked at her sharply. “Did you say Seranus?”

“Yes. Why?”

“That was what she called the Red Templar responsible for this whole mess...” His jaw clenched tightly.

“Is he…?”

“Dead.”

“Good,” Leliana’s gaze softened as she looked at him. “You should sleep. You look terrible.”

“It’s not like I haven’t tried,” the Commander rubbed the back of his neck and looked away.

“She’s stronger than you give her credit for, Commander. Just wait. She’ll pull through.”

“I pray that you’re right…”

***

Dorian was restless. As someone who didn’t make many friends, dealing with the possibility of losing one wasn’t something he had much experience in. Felix was the only one he could name. At least he’d had time to come to terms with that before it happened, but it still hurt. Now...? He raked a hand through his thick black hair. Its usual perfect styling was nowhere to be seen, but to be honest he didn’t much care at the moment.

There was nothing he could do but think. But he didn’t want to think. Multiple times he sat down in his chair and attempted to read only to toss the book aside and stand up again, pacing the length of the bookshelves. When the shuffling of papers below caught his ear, Dorian bolted down the stairs. The wayward apostate had returned.

“Solas! Have you seen her?”

“I have,” the elf was infuriatingly calm. “In fact, I just came from there.”

“And?”

“It is… difficult to say,” his eyes were troubled. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

Dorian recounted the events as best he could remember. There was a small gap between when he lost consciousness and when he woke up to find Faydren looking like some sort of vengeful goddess, but Solas was more interested in the latter anyway. His face only grew more concerned.

“I have a theory… Though it is unlikely to assist with her condition, it may have been part of the cause,” Solas paused.

“At this point, I’ll take anything,” Dorian sighed.

“You mentioned that you thought the Anchor spreading was a result of her allowing too much power through in the form of small healing spirits,” the Tevinter nodded in response. “That is likely part of it. However, I am inclined to believe that the Inquisitor also gained the assistance of a single, powerful spirit. That is why her appearance changed so drastically for a time.”

“You think she was possessed?” Pavus narrowed his eyes angrily. He would have been able to tell if she was possessed. The elf was mistaken.

“No. Not exactly. I think the purity of her purpose inspired the spirit to temporarily grant power that no mortal is meant to bear,” Solas met his gaze evenly. “Spirits of that much power rarely show themselves, even in the Fade. Honestly, I cannot say which she might have bonded with. I doubt she could say either.”

“It still sounds a bit far-fetched…”

“More far-fetched than your survival?”

“Reaching, crying, calling. Connecting for just a moment,” Cole’s voice cut in above them. He was sitting on the painter scaffolding, swinging his legs back and forth. “This one. So intense. This one I’ll help. Just one touch, but might still be too much.”

“It seems Cole can confirm my theory,” Solas mused.

“You _heard_ the spirit, Cole?” Dorian was astonished.

“Yes. Sort of. Normally I can only hear the hurt. But this wasn’t hurt. It was helping. Like me.”

“I feared as much,” Vivienne glided into the room. “Can you ask that creature to leave, please? I’d like to discuss this matter further.”

“I find Cole’s presence more palatable than yours, Lady Vivienne,” Solas replied curtly. She gave him an icy stare but didn’t push the subject.

“Commander Helaine told me what you described to her, Dorian. As a skilled Knight-Enchanter myself, I agree with her conclusion that what you say the Inquisitor did was improbable at best.”

“And yet, here we are,” Dorian was not in the mood to deal with the woman right now, and he did not like the sound of where she was going with this.

“Indeed. I think we must address the possibility that the Inquisitor was in fact possessed, and still could be-”

“Venhedis! Fasta vaas!” Dorian snapped. “Do you even hear yourself?! This is Faydren we’re talking about!”

“I happen to be quite fond of our Inquisitor, but facts are facts,” she looked down her nose at him.

“You are right.” Solas received an incredulous look from Dorian, but continued undeterred. “Facts _are_ facts. And the fact is that Faydren is not possessed any more than you are, Enchanter.”

“But you just heard it yourself. She bargained with a demon in order to save her allies.”

“There was no bargain. She reached out to the Fade, and the spirit responded,” it was the elf’s turn to glare at her coldly. “Do you ‘bargain’ with the spirit that creates your spectral blade? Would you call yourself possessed if you’ve ever cast Resurgence? Just because the spirit was fully aware of its actions, that does not make it a demon.”

“This is a dangerous line to walk based on assumptions, apostate…”

“Well I’d rather walk a dangerous line than toss my friend over it,” Dorian cut in tersely before storming back upstairs to his books. There were some things he wanted to research further…

***

Iron Bull breathed heavily as he and the Seeker circled one another in the training yard. Normally he got Krem or Grim to spar him when he needed to let off some steam, but the Chargers were still in the Western Approach. When he spotted Cassandra taking out her frustrations on a rather unfortunate training dummy, he decided to extend her the offer for both their sakes.

The first couple of times they tried it, both had held back to prevent injuring the other. Now they were fully comfortable going all-out, much to the terror of passing onlookers. Bull grunted as he brought his greataxe down on top of the Seeker. She deftly redirected it with her shield, sending his blade straight into the ground before lashing out with her own. He sidestepped, almost able to feel her sword slice through the air inches away from his ribs.

They traded blow after blow like this for hours, neither willing to give ground. Eventually they were left panting and drenched in sweat, forced to call a draw before their fatigue led to a serious mistake. It was a reluctant decision nonetheless.

Neither of them wanted to talk about the reason they needed the distraction. There wouldn't be much point anyway. The reason was the same for both, and nothing they said could change what had happened. So they just had to wait it out. Meaning? Distraction.

Sparring wasn't the only option Bull had turned to either. This fact could be confirmed by half of Skyhold's kitchen staff walking funny. However, adrenaline-pumping fights and nights of passion could only take up so much time, leaving him to more serious thoughts during the rest of the day.

The Qunari had never asked about or looked into Faydren's time before the Inquisition. To him, a person's present was more important than what their past held. He'd seen plenty of broken people before he met her. There were countless reasons a person could break - some big and some small. In the end, which it was didn't matter as long as they found a way to put themselves back together. Faydren had done that (though the cracks still showed now and then). So he let it be.

This time it was the past that didn't let go. It had hunted her down and tried to rip her apart all over again. _That_ was worth noting. It spoke of darker things than he had expected, and usually he was a good judge. Maybe a talk with Red was in order...

***

Varric sat alone quietly at his table near the fire in the main hall. Bianca was leaning against the chair and a mug of ale sat untouched by his arm. It was late and the hall was mostly empty, the scratching of his pen on the paper one of the only sounds. He had been writing a lot since they got back.

It was mostly just little stories regarding various encounters he'd run into with Hawke. They weren't all as exciting as the ones he'd put in the book or told around campfires, but he still enjoyed them. Faydren would probably enjoy them too-

The pen stopped and he leaned back in his chair with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. Damn this whole stinking situation. He was no expert on all the magical crap, but what Dorian described didn't sound good. If you stretch a bowstring too far, you get a new bowstring – how does that work with people?

“It's bad, yeah?”

Varric was startled by the sudden voice and looked up to find that Sera was standing next to him, fiddling with her hands nervously. He wasn't sure how much the others had been told, but honestly any of it was enough for concern. He thought about lying to make her feel better, but didn't much see the point.

“Yeah, Buttercup. It's bad.”

She dropped into a chair on his left and grabbed the mug, taking a big gulp of the alcohol inside before slamming it back down on the table. He shifted his papers aside to avoid the splash of liquid that jumped out.

“It's always magic, innit? No magic? No big hole in the sky or creepy glowy marks on people! We could all just run around being stupid the normal way.”

Varric considered responding, but decided to just let Sera rant for a bit. And rant she did - long enough for her to finish off the first mug, go get a refill, and down that one too. He was content to listen quietly, just grateful for the distraction. Finally she fell silent, a sullen look on her face.

“Feel better, Buttercup?” Varric asked gently.

“Not really...” Sera frowned, quieter now. “I like the Inquisitor, Varric. She may be all big and importanty and a mage - but I like her.”

“Me too...”

“Want to go shoot some things?”

“Sure.”

***

Cullen had started bringing reports to Faydren's room with him. Partly because he was behind on his responsibilities, and partly because it gave his mind something else to think about. The Inquisition was still hard at work, even without its Inquisitor for the moment. Unrest in Orlais was one of the biggest challenges currently, especially with their knowledge of a possible assassination attempt on the Empress by Corypheus' forces.

Every once in a while, he set the papers aside and let his mind wander. Her face was no longer pale and she didn't appear to be in pain. He couldn't help admiring her even as she slept - the gentle curve of her lips, the way little wisps of hair fell across her forehead, even the sharp contrast of the scar's light path across her olive skin.

The Anchor's presence was visible only on her hand now, though a blackened spiderweb of scars remained on her arm as an unpleasant reminder. Watching her chest rise and fall with each breath was calming as Cullen placed his elbows on the edge of her bed and rested his chin on his hands. He still hadn't been getting much sleep, and a wave of exhaustion came over him. Maybe if he just let his eyes rest for a few moments...

***

Faydren's eyes opened, blinking repeatedly. She was weary and her entire left arm ached. Hazy images of her dying friends flashed through her mind but she shook them away. Was that all a nightmare? No. It had been real. But the hint of a memory told her everything was fine now.

There was pressure on the bed to her right and her eyes fell on Cullen, sleeping deeply with his head resting on folded arms next to her hand. That couldn't be right. She must still be asleep. But this dream was better than the last one and she smiled softly nonetheless. Reaching up a shaky hand, Faydren brushed a lock of sandy hair from his forehead. He looked so tired... The dream version of him must work too hard as well.

Dream or no, he was safe. It was a certainty in her heart, and that was all she needed for the moment. Faydren slipped her hand into his and closed her eyes, still tired.

***

Cullen woke with a start. Something felt different. When he noticed her hand in his and the peaceful hint of a smile on her face, hope surged in his chest. It had been over a week. Did this mean she was...

“Faydren?”

Her eyes opened, looking at him in confusion followed swiftly by embarrassment. The slight rush of color to her face filled his heart with joy. And seeing her eyes again – that stunning silvery grey with its light ring of violet - he could lose himself in those eyes. Faydren retracted her hand as she spoke quietly.

“Oh, I- Um. Did you need something, Comman-”

Her words were cut off as Cullen leaned in and kissed her. He felt her stiffen in surprise at first before timidly kissing him back. Faydren's lips were softer than he'd imagined, and they tasted of something sweet. Pulling away sooner than he would have liked, Cullen felt his ears begin to burn. He practically sprinted out of her room to spread the good news, leaving Faydren lying in the bed blushing furiously with a hand on her lips.


	14. Eye of the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Faydren was awake, things started getting back to normal. Or as normal as they ever were for the Inquisition.

Adan was the first physician to get in to see Faydren. The grumpy alchemist was no longer needed as a healer, but he still insisted on seeing to the Herald when the need arose. He gave a series of satisfied grunts as he checked her over. They hadn’t let her get out of bed yet. Then she found out how long it had been.

“A week?!” She asked incredulously.

“That’s right. We’re lucky it wasn’t longer,” Adan held her wrist and appeared to be counting.

“What was wrong?”

“Nothing that we could find. Best guess was it had something to do with that,” he nodded at her left arm. “And whatever happened out in the mountains.”

“Can you… wrap it?”

“I wouldn’t say I need to, but if you really want-”

“Please.”

Faydren looked down at the offending appendage as he wrapped it. Black scarring forked up to her elbow, looking like the cracks in ice not quite broken. Adan said when she was brought back they _were_ cracks in her skin, and they glowed like the Anchor. Now it was just another scar, and another reminder. Thankfully this time not a reminder of loss.

Memories of that night were fuzzy. She remembered seeing her friends nearly dead all around her. Remembered Cullen’s eyes – the bloody dagger – the sound of his body hitting the ground… Her heart ached just thinking about it.

After that there was light, warmth, power. Resurgence had never come so easily before. Something held her hand, reassuring even as its touch burned with a searing intensity. She’d healed her friends and cut Seranus down. Then there was only darkness until she woke up in this bed with Cullen by her side.

Faydren’s face grew warm. He’d kissed her. He must not have been thinking straight. Just woke up, saw her awake after so long, so much relief - a relieved, sleep-deprived kiss. That was all... And Cullen hadn’t been back since. Even as she tried to explain it away, her heart secretly began to hope. Was this feeling what it seemed?

“If nobody knew when I would wake up, why was the Commander here?” She asked abruptly.

“Because he never left,” Adan finished bandaging with a nod, her forearm completely covered.

“Never?” Faydren blinked in surprise.

“Or very rarely in any case. The man was in bad shape.”

Before she could bother formulating a response, there was a commotion outside the door. A grin tugged at her lips. She’d known it would only be a matter of time.

“C-Commander said n-not to let anyone through,” she heard a young man stammer.

“Cullen can go soak his head!” Iron Bull’s voice rumbled through the door. “The Inquisitor is my boss, and _she_ is in _there_.”

“Really, I don’t think it’s in your best interest to stand in our way,” Dorian added smoothly.

“You’ve heard what happens when Qunari get angry, right?” Varric played along.

“Ugh,” Cassandra butted in. “I will speak to the Commander on your behalf, soldier. Let us through.”

“O-of course, Seeker!”

The door squeaked open and there was the clambering of many feet on her stairs. Then they were all there, looking at her with varying levels of relief. Bull and Cassandra were covered in sweat and dirt, Dorian’s hair stuck up in all directions, Varric had huge bags under his eyes and ink stains on his fingers – Faydren was so happy just to see them all.

“Wow. You guys look terrible,” she smiled slightly. “Leave you alone for one week, and you completely let yourselves go.”

The humor was unexpected and at first it was met with stunned silence. Then the good-natured retorts came. Even Cassandra allowed her amusement to show. Their visit lasted for a short while longer before Adan ushered them all out. There was no resistance now that they’d seen her for themselves. The alchemist gathered his things and left as well, advising her to rest one more day to be safe.

Faydren lay back with a sigh. The room was dark now aside from moonlight filtering through the windows. Her fingers played absentmindedly along the unnecessary bandages as warm tears slid down her face. They were happy tears this time… She hadn’t expected to find a family again.

“Why do you hide it?”

The Inquisitor about jumped out of her skin as she looked up to see Cole peering at her upside down from his perch on top of the canopied bed. Had he come in with the others? She swiped at the tears on her cheeks.

“Hide what?” When she thought about it, his question could apply to a great many things.

“Your arm. It’s not hurt, but you hide it. Why?”

“I… I’m not sure,” she averted her eyes. It was partly true. She’d requested it on a feeling more than anything.

“You worry it would remind them. Of the hurt. The fear. Watching, waiting, wondering…”

“I didn’t mean to cause them pain,” she said softly. “You could see it, couldn’t you?”

“They care for you. Caring is painful,” Cole dropped silently to the floor and moved to her side, touching the bandaged arm gently. “Sometimes to help our friends, we hurt them too. That doesn’t mean we should stop helping.”

“I’ve never asked… Do you have other friends somewhere?”

“Before you, Rhys was my friend. He was a mage. He saw me when most couldn't, and he remembered,” Cole spoke calmly. “He helped me, and I watched over him. I worried Evangeline would hurt him.”

“Evangeline?” Faydren was surprised but pleased that he was actually sharing this with her.

“She was a Templar,” the statement was matter-of-fact. “But she didn't like hurting people. When I left, she stayed. Now she watches over him.”

“Why did you leave?”

“Seeker Lambert told me what I was. Rhys couldn't look at me. I ran.”

“Where are they now?” It might be nice to meet someone Cole knew from before.

“They should have been with the rebels. Maybe they ran away together instead. Neither of them like killing,” he sounded hopeful.

“If you like, I could use the resources of the Inquisition to locate your friends.”

“No. If they are alive and safe, they should stay away. The last time he saw me, he... didn't want to look at me. He saw a monster,” Cole's voice took on an edge she'd never heard. “Let him forget.”

They both remained silent for a few moments, contemplating. If this Rhys had truly been his friend once, surely he couldn't see the boy as a monster. Faydren's mind was made up – she would find him. Just in case.

“What about now, Cole? Are you okay after...?” Her eyes searched his face.

“I would have been sad if you were gone. But, I could feel you. I knew you’d come back,” he gave a small, shy smile.

“I would be sad if you were gone too,” she smiled back. Faydren wasn’t sure why, but it suddenly struck her that she didn’t want to be alone. “Cole… will you stay with me?”

“Yes,” he nodded and took a seat next to the bed.

Cole’s presence calmed her, much as it had after Therinfal. Maybe it was just knowing she didn’t have to appear strong for him. He could see, and he understood. Pulling the covers close and rolling onto her side, Faydren reached out tentatively for Cole’s hand. He gave it to her and simply sat quietly as she drifted off to sleep. The spirit boy would stay with her as long as she liked.

***

“I'm glad to see you are doing well, Inquisitor,” Solas turned away from his research with a kind smile.

“Solas... Can I talk to you for a bit?” Faydren had some questions, and he seemed like a good option for answers.

“Of course. But let us go somewhere more... interesting.”

Snow fell around them gently as they walked. The sun shone bright in the sky and Faydren felt peaceful looking around at the familiar snow-covered buildings. Everyone was working hard and chatting with one another. The smell of freshly cut wood mingled with smoke from the forge as a soft breeze swept through the small town.

“Why here?” She asked curiously.

“Haven is familiar. It will always be important to you,” the elf led her inside to the Chantry cells and stopped. “I sat beside you while you slept, studying the Anchor. At Haven and this more recent time.”

“I'm glad someone was watching over me at Haven...” Her first memories of that time were unkind.

“You were a mystery,” Solas admitted, turning to look at her directly. “You still are. I ran every test I could imagine, searched the Fade, yet found nothing. Cassandra suspected duplicity. She threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn't produce results.”

“Cassandra's like that with everyone,” Faydren shrugged.

“Yes,” he laughed genuinely. As they walked back outside, it struck her that she rarely heard him laugh. “You were never going to wake up. How could you, a mortal sent physically through the Fade? I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee, and then...”

For a moment, Faydren felt like she was back sealing a rift for the first time. Solas had grabbed her arm. There was so much pain. But then it had worked, and the rift was gone.

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation.” Even his words were the same as before. But then they were back in Haven and he continued. “You had sealed it with a gesture... and right then, I felt the whole world change.”

“I'm glad you stuck around,” she said gratefully.

“As am I,” the response was warm. “You have fractured rules of man and nature, and you will shatter more before you are done. Visiting me here, even as a mage... it should not have been so easy for you.”

“What do you mean?” The Inquisitor frowned in confusion.

“Where did you think we were?” Solas’ voice was filled with mirth.

Faydren slowly came to understand. They couldn’t actually be here. Haven was gone, buried under a mountain of snow. The realization stung for a moment as she remembered that night, and her heart sank as she said it out loud.

“This isn't real.”

“That's a matter of debate...” His eyes twinkled as they met hers. “Probably best discussed after you _wake up_.”

Faydren sat up in her bed with a start. That was… strange. The seat next to her was empty now, but Cole had placed Darius’ pendant in her hand instead. She smiled and fastened it around her neck, comforted by its cool presence against her skin. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she stood and made her way out of the room.

The Inquisitor barely made a sound as her bare feet carried her through Skyhold. It was late, and very few people were around. Those that were paid little attention. Entering the mural-filled rotunda, she was unsurprised to see Solas awake and sifting through his research. He looked much the same as he had in her dream.

“Sleep well?” The elf turned to her with an amused grin.

“I've never done anything like that before. Do you regularly talk to people in dreams?”

“No,” he chuckled. “Consider that one more rule you have effortlessly broken in your rise to power. I had no idea that the Anchor would allow you to dream with such focus. It is truly remarkable. But I am reasonably certain we are awake now, and if you wish to discuss anything, I would enjoy talking.”

“I was going to ask before… in the dream. What do you think happened to me? Why did the Anchor spread?” Faydren looked at him intently. He seemed the most likely to know.

“I do have a theory…” Solas hesitated.

“Yes?”

“I think when you reached out to the Fade during Resurgence, a fully realized spirit responded. They can be very powerful. So much so, mortals often aren’t built to withstand direct contact. I believe the Anchor is part of what saved you,” he watched curiously for her reaction.

“A spirit… What kind of spirit?” This theory was unexpected, but it did make some sense.

“That I do not know. There are countless spirits in the Fade, and many rarely show themselves.”

“You think the Anchor helped?”

“Mages usually channel power from the Fade through their own bodies and staves to manifest it. You know this,” he began. “The Anchor gives you a secondary contact point. Without it, the amount of magical energy you summoned may have burnt you alive. As it was, the Anchor absorbed much of the excess power and grew larger as a result. Its expansion put significant strain on your body, but kept it from very nearly overloading.”

“I see.”

They both remained silent for a short time as Faydren let the idea sink in. She _had_ reached out in the Fade. At that moment, she’d needed the spell to work – more than she’d ever needed anything. There was never a way for her to save those she’d lost before. Even the slightest chance that she could save them this time was worth the risk, despite Helaine’s warnings.

It still surprised her that something had actually reached back – according to Solas, something powerful. Words echoed in her head, a whisper of a memory: _Be strong, little one. I will do what I can._ And it did. Everyone made it. Hopefully the spirit knew how grateful she was.

“Thank you, Solas. This was very helpful,” Faydren turned to go, but paused as she recalled another thought nagging in the back of her mind. “One more thing… Have you ever spoken to me in a dream before?”

“No…” Solas looked almost troubled by the question. “Why do you ask?”

“Before I woke up in the cave after Haven, I was dreaming… I think,” she hadn’t told anyone about this. It was uncomfortable. “There were eyes in the darkness. They were searching, and they found me. Then a voice said ‘Wake up’… It sounded like you did in the dream just now.”

“Intriguing… but it was not I.”

Faydren eyed him carefully but he was back to being as inscrutable as ever while he shook his head. She’d been so certain… But she couldn’t think of any reason for him to lie. Maybe the connection _was_ only in her mind.

A huge yawn broke her concentration and she covered her mouth, looking at the elf sheepishly. He had been waiting patiently for any further conversation. She should probably squeeze in at least a few more hours of sleep. They could always talk later.

“Good night, Solas.”

“Sweet dreams, Inquisitor,” he smirked.

***

Faydren was sitting at her usual secluded table on the Herald's Rest second floor, shuffling through an enormous mound of papers. The Inquisition had been busy, and right now she was just trying to skim through the reports enough to have a grasp of current events. She'd rather not look like a complete idiot next time they gathered in the War Room.

It was only her second day completely up and about. After the first day, she'd been trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible... The Inquisitor had practically been swarmed by well-wishers on her initial foray into the courtyard. This time she had taken the long way – going across the ramparts and through the upper tavern door instead. Technically her room would have worked just as well, but it was always so stuffy in there.

“Your Worship.”

Faydren popped her head over an especially large stack to see Krem standing there with an amused look on his face.

“Hello, Krem. Back from the Western Approach I see.”

“Yep. Wouldn't think it by the amount of sand still somehow _everywhere_ though,” he shook his head with a chuckle before turning more serious. “We actually got back a few days ago.”

“Oh. Had a chance to settle in then,” Faydren shifted nervously.

“Not exactly. The Chief's been in rare form. I've never sparred so much in my life. Pretty sure the rest of the guys might've fallen over dead if we had another day like that,” the lieutenant joked.

“Sorry to hear that,” she sincerely felt bad since it was most likely her fault.

“Bah, no big deal. Besides, he seems to be fine now,” he eyed her carefully before grinning. “Glad to hear you're feeling better, Inquisitor. My arms especially appreciate it.”

“You're welcome?” That had gotten the smile he'd hoped for, and Krem gave a small salute before heading back downstairs.

“Oh, and feel free to come down for a drink with the Chargers later if you get thirsty!”

Faydren shook her head, still smiling slightly before looking down at the report she'd been about to read. Much to her surprise, it was about Sutherland! The next one had his name as well, and she read both with great interest. He'd been doing quite well for the Inquisition, and had apparently recruited some others to go along with him on assignments. They called themselves an adventuring party. A happy warmth filled her chest. Good for him.

Curious, Faydren raised her head to look at the tables across the tavern from her. She was in luck. Abandoning her reading, she meandered over to a table with three occupants. Sutherland finished telling some outrageous story and looked up as her shadow fell on the table. He nearly fell out of his chair in his haste to stand.

“Inquisitor!”

“At ease, Sutherland,” she said with the hint of a smile. “I hear you've been doing good work.”

“You remembered my name! I- um. Well yes, we've been doing our best for the Inquisition, Your Worship,” he replied proudly. “Oh! This is Voth – he doesn't talk much – and this here's Shayd. Let me tell you, she knows her way around a blade.”

“Oh shut it, you fool,” the young woman scolded.

“They even suited us up in this nice armor. Have you ever seen its like? But we'll repay you. No doubt about it. We're an adventuring company of the finest quality,” Sutherland nodded firmly.

“I have no doubt,” Faydren assured him. “Keep up the good work.”

Returning to her table, she could hear the excited whispering behind her and the sound of Sutherland getting scolded again by his female companion. They were a good group. It was nice to see them making something of themselves. Bringing back her focus, she realized Sera was leaning against the table now. Those reports were never going to get read tonight...

“You have a problem,” Sera moved to the railing, motioning for Faydren to follow. “That, over there, is a full tavern, but everyone's drinking alone. They're all up their own arses about the Inquisition.”

“I'm... sorry?” The mage had no idea where this was going.

“ _I_ can't have fun with everybody whinging. And they'll fall on their swords before Coryphenus can push them.”

“Well. That would be a bad thing, yes,” Faydren agreed cautiously.

“I'm thinking pranks. Set a few up. Knock a few down. Plus, you just got done being injured. Nobody can get mad at you! So, in or not?” Sera appeared to be completely serious.

“You think it will help?”

“Look, you have experts for everything. And I know a bunch of tight-arsed people when I see them,” the rogue waggled her eyebrows. “Oh, sure, they'll complain. But they'll really mean 'Thank you for distracting me from the end of the stupid world.' Come on!”

There was a time when Faydren would have joined in without question - she may have even been the one suggesting it. Could she still do that sort of thing? It didn't attract her the way it used to, but... maybe it could be fun. And everyone _was_ terribly serious right now.

“Lead the way.”

“What, really?” Sera's face brightened.

“Really.”

“I knew you were different! Let's go.”

The archer giggled like mad as she raced up the stairs instead of down, and out onto the ramparts. It was the way Faydren had taken to get in, so it was a relief to exit the same way and avoid all the attention. They reached Cullen's office, and Sera ushered her inside.

“Right. General Uptight is gone,” the elf whispered. “Have a search about. Find something to mess with and give your soldiers a laugh.”

The two dug around a bit. Sera checked everything along the outside of the room while Faydren focused around the desk. A letter caught her eye. It wasn't a report, and the handwriting was soft and elaborate. Feeling a bit guilty, she picked it up and read it. Its contents left her grinning. The letter was from Cullen's sister - and Mia wielded guilt like a master.

Giving up on finding anything specifically prank-worthy, Faydren looked at the monstrous writing table itself.

“What about this?” She tapped it lightly with her boot.

“What, the desk? Oh, yes! Center of the empire and all that. What to do, what to do...”

“I've got nothing...”

“Thing looks heavy. Don't want to move or break it. I got it! Easy one! Just a slip of something under here,” Sera knelt down and slid a small chunk of wood under the edge of the desk. “There! Won't notice much. But it's just that little bit wonky. He's so in control that'll piss him royally.”

It was barely noticeable, but Faydren knew she was right. That tiny feel of being off would drive the Commander positively batty. She'd have to remember to 'notice' it later and point it out to him.

“I tell one of the soldiers, and boom! The General seems like people. And since he works for you, _you_ seem like people. Come on, next one!”

There was much sneaking and stifled giggling as the two made their way to Josephine's study. Somehow they managed to catch her out as well. The advisers must have been meeting about something important. Faydren felt a pang of guilt wondering if she was supposed to be there, but pushed it aside.

A course of action was swiftly decided on and set up. They darted out before anyone could notice their irregular presence. The last stop was Leliana's rookery. Here they ran into real trouble – they could not think of a single entertaining thing to prank the Spymaster with.

“Maybe... Feed her messengers something gassy? No, birds don't parp. But they flap, and... uh. Hm,” Sera crossed her arms and frowned, deep in thought.

“Who is up there?” Solas' voice rang out from the bottom floor and the two pranksters froze. They'd been heard!

“Go!” Faydren hissed, laughter in her eyes.

Sera squealed quietly and took off with Faydren close on her heels, barely making it out the door as footsteps echoed in the stairwell. They ran until they were back in the tavern at the Inquisitor's table. Both were breathing hard and Sera cackled uncontrollably while Faydren just grinned at her.

“That was fun! An Inquisitor of the people, still remembering you're one of them,” Sera shoved her playfully. “If all they got was the Herald stuff, the serious bit, you'd start to sound pretty scary. That works, but not for long.”

“I've missed doing things like this... I haven't played a prank since we threw pies at the Senior Enchanters,” Faydren mused.

“Pies is so good! And Coryphenus would never do that. Good thing for you, innit? Because from the bottom, everyone up top sort of seems the same. Anyway, fun time, Inquisitor-”

“You!” Josie's voice bellowed at them from the top of the stairs. The Ambassador was soaking wet and if looks could kill, Red Jenny and the Inquisitor would be corpses on the tavern floor.

“Oh, frig! You did it!” Sera giggled and made a break for her room, slamming the door shut behind her.

“Um… Oops?” Faydren looked at Josephine sheepishly and shrugged.

***

It was nearing the end of day three, and Faydren had seen neither hide nor hair of the Commander. Despite her best efforts, that kiss had rarely strayed far from her thoughts. Every time she allowed herself to actually remember that moment, her heart beat a little faster and her face began to burn. It was too distracting. She needed it to go away. The only way to do that was to confront him about it and find out exactly what it meant. Damn it...

So she went to his office. And proceeded to stand awkwardly outside his door for the better part of ten minutes. Taking a deep breath and steeling her nerves, Faydren knocked on the door.

“Come in,” was the muffled response.

She swung the door open and stepped in, closing it gently behind her. Cullen looked better than the last time she saw him. He must have finally gotten some semblance of sleep. The Commander was fully engrossed in whatever he was working on, and Faydren decided maybe she should come back some other time. She turned to reach for the door handle, but his voice stopped her.

“Inquisitor?”

The tone was puzzled, and he looked both surprised and nervous at her presence. Maybe he had been avoiding her after all, though she'd been hoping that wasn't the case. If he was avoiding her, then he really must regret that kiss. But there was no point in delaying her purpose any longer.

“I thought we could talk... Alone?”

“Alone?” He repeated uncertainly. “I mean, of course.”

They walked in silence along the ramparts as she tried to collect her thoughts. Plus, she wanted them to reach a section that had less possibility for outside interruption. The Commander cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“It's a nice day.”

“What?” She'd been too deep in thought to catch what he said. They stopped walking.

“It's...” He appeared to change his mind. “There was something you wished to discuss.”

“Right. About that kiss...” Faydren began hesitantly.

“Oh, I'd been meaning to apologize for that,” Cullen interrupted in a hurry.

“Apologize?” Her heart sank.

“Yes. It was completely out of line. It won't happen a-” he stopped, apparently seeing something in her face. “Inquisitor?”

“Cullen, I... care for you, and-” Faydren sighed in frustration. What was she saying? It had obviously just been a misunderstanding.

“What's wrong?” The softness in his voice caught her off guard after the formality of a moment ago. Caring golden eyes met hers, and she couldn't hold back anymore. She had to know for certain.

“You left the Templars, but do you trust mages?” She blurted out, heart in her throat. “Could you think of me as anything more?”

“I could. I mean, I do... Think of you,” he stammered. “And what I might say in this sort of situation…”

Cullen sighed and rubbed his face, pacing a short distance. This clearly weighed on him heavily. Maybe she should have just let it go. He had enough to worry about without dealing with her feelings on top of that. But if he really did feel the same way...

“What's stopping you?” Faydren asked quietly, afraid of the answer.

“You're the Inquisitor,” his face was conflicted and vulnerable as he turned to her. “We're at war. And you... I didn't think it was possible.”

He didn't think what was possible? It dawned on her slowly – this whole time he'd been worried that _she_ was the one who might not feel the same. It was almost laughable how bad the two of them were at this... In fact, she suspiciously wondered if her other companions had noticed as well.

“I'm still here,” Faydren said, a small smile playing on her lips.

“So you are...”

That seemed to be reassurance enough for him, and Cullen moved in close until his face was only inches from hers. The breath caught in her chest and she couldn't tear her eyes away from his – nor did she want to. In their amber depths was everything she'd been hoping for without even realizing. Right now, this man was her world.

“It seems too much to ask,” Cullen whispered, his breath warm against her face. “But I want to-”

“Commander!” They froze as a messenger approached. He remained completely oblivious. “You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana's report.”

“What?” Cullen practically snarled in frustration as he pulled away from her. The moment was broken, and Faydren felt a pang of sadness at its loss. Quickly she attempted to busy herself doing... _something_.

“Sister Leliana's report. You wanted it delivered 'without delay.'”

The Commander didn't say anything, but Faydren could tell by the messenger's face that Cullen was likely glaring holes through him. The man's eyes darted over to her and she gave an awkward half-wave. Well this could have gone better. Now the rumors would be everywhere.

“Or... to your office... Right...” The runner backed away slowly before turning tail and bolting back across the ramparts. She stared at the ex-Templar's back for a moment. He probably had business to attend to anyway. Maybe they should wait.

“If you need to-”

Trevelyan's words were swiftly cut off as Cullen spun around and pressed his lips to hers, pulling her body close with firm hands. The stubble on his face was rough, but the kiss was perfection. Faydren closed her eyes and drank him in deeply. She put one hand against his face and ran the other gently through his sandy waves before resting it on the back of his neck. By the time they pulled apart, both were a little short of breath.

“I'm sorry...” He said shyly, grinning from ear to ear. “That was... um... really nice.”

“You don't regret it, do you?” She asked in momentary concern, ever self-conscious.

“No! No. Not at all. I didn't regret the first one either,” Cullen admitted with a cheeky smirk.

She beamed at him happily with a laugh. They continued to simply hold one another as the sun began to set, occasionally kissing to make sure they still liked it... Which of course, they did.


	15. Turbulent Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Inquisition continues to grow, new opportunities present themselves.  
> But is the fledgling Inquisitor truly ready to make the hard decisions?

The door slammed open as Dorian strode into the room with a flurry of robes. Varric instinctively reached for Bianca before realizing who had entered. Turning to the new arrival, the dwarf crossed his arms with a deep sigh. Didn’t people realize that a closed door meant he was busy? Though to be fair, he had just hit a wall in his writing anyway.

Dorian looked positively smug as he stood there – more so than usual even. Arms crossed with fingers drumming and foot tapping impatiently, he was clearly about to burst with whatever news he carried. But Varric knew he was waiting to be asked. He let the mage suffer a bit longer before giving in.

“Something to say, Sparkler?”

“You will never guess what I just heard on good authority,” Dorian could barely contain himself.

“They finally found a way to shrink your ego to a manageable size?”

“No,” Dorian laughed appreciatively. “That would be an impossibility.”

“Then you’ve got me,” Varric shrugged.

“What if I told you that it involves our dear Inquisitor?”

“I would remind you that lots of things involve Stormcloud. She’s kind of in charge.”

“Hm. Fair point. But it also involves a certain former-Templar-now-Commander,” Dorian wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Varric’s jaw nearly dropped.

“Wait, you mean they actually…?”

“Mhmmm.”

“Details, Sparkler. What happened and how do you know? It wouldn’t be the first rumor about those two.”

“A messenger apparently ran across them together on the ramparts. It seems Cullen was quite perturbed by the interruption, so he left in a hurry-”

“Well that doesn’t prove anything. They talk together all the time,” Varric waved a hand dismissively.

“Ah, but you didn’t let me finish,” Dorian’s eyes twinkled. “The messenger looked back when he’d reached the adjacent wall – and saw Cullen kiss her.”

“No… Curly? He actually did it?”

“Planted one right on her!” Dorian crowed with glee. “And if our peeping friend is right, she certainly didn’t mind.”

“Well it’s about time,” Varric laughed heartily. “Now we just have to hope they can stay out of their own way enough to let it grow.”

“Indeed. We may just have to help them with that,” the mage winked. “Ah! I’m going to go tell Iron Bull. He can assist on that end.”

Varric shook his head with a grin as Dorian dashed out of the room. This was great news. Stormcloud had been trying so hard not to get attached to any of them (and failing). But he’d still feared she would never let someone that close. Curly wasn’t much better, always doubting himself and his worthiness. Sure, they were both broken – but they also held the ability to fix one another. Varric was glad he’d get the chance to see it. His eyes wandered down to Bianca. Some people deserve a happy ending.

***

Faydren slipped down the muddy incline, barely able to keep herself from falling face first into a puddle at the bottom. It had been a while since she’d come back to the Storm Coast, and footing remained as treacherous as ever. Somehow the others didn’t seem to have any trouble - which only served to annoy her.

The whole situation had her a little on edge, to be honest. The Inquisitor couldn’t believe it when Iron Bull told her the Qunari were interested in an alliance. This was a big deal. They would be very powerful allies. The offer garnered some suspicion as well, but everyone had agreed she should at least look into the matter. Hence why she was out here.

“All right, our Qunari contact should be here to meet us,” Bull announced as they approached a small camp.

“He is,” a chestnut-haired elf stepped out from the nearby foliage. “Good to see you again, Hissrad.”

“Gatt!” Bull exclaimed happily. “Last I heard, you were still in Seheron.”

“They finally decided I'd calmed down enough to go back out into the world,” he grinned.

“Boss, this is Gatt. We worked together in Seheron.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor,” Gatt bowed slightly. “Hissrad's reports say you're doing good work.”

“Iron Bull's name is Hissrad?” Faydren asked curiously, nodding a greeting.

“Under the Qun, we use titles, not names.”

“My title was 'Hissrad', because I was assigned to secret work,” the Qunari explained. “You can translate it as 'Keeper of Illusions'. Or...”

“'Liar'. It means liar,” Gatt interrupted.

“Well, you don't have to say it like _that,_ ” Bull frowned, clearly bothered by the harsh translation.

“I'm only here because we both want to stop Corypheus,” the Inquisitor kept her voice even.

“Indeed. The Tevinter Imperium is bad enough without the interference of this Venatori cult.”

“Yes. Filthy, decadent brutes, the lot of them,” Dorian’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I'm certain life would be much better for all of us under the Qun.”

“It was for me, after the Qunari rescued me from slavery in Tevinter. I was eight,” Gatt narrowed his eyes at the Tevinter mage. “The Qun isn't perfect, but it gave me a better life.”

“Yes, one free from all that pointless free will and independent thought. Such an improvement,” the remark was snide.

“Arguing about the war between your two nations isn't going to help anyone right now,” Faydren shut down the growing argument. She hadn’t considered the possible issues that might arise from bringing Dorian.

“I'm not here to convert anyone. All I care about is stopping this red lyrium from reaching Minrathous.”

“With this stuff, the Vints could make their slaves into an army of magical freaks,” Bull actually sounded worried. “We could lose Seheron... and see a giant Tevinter army come marching back down here.”

“The Ben-Hassrath agree. That's why we're here.”

Gatt took the next few minutes detailing out the plan. They would need to split into two teams in order to shut down both Venatori encampments before the ship came in. The enemy mages would be the biggest threat and should be focused down first. Once all resistance was cleared out, they could signal the dreadnought to come in for the kill.

“What do you think, Bull?”

“Don't know. I've never liked covering a dreadnought run. Too many ways for crap to go wrong. If our scouts underestimate enemy numbers, we're dead. If we can't lock down the Venatori mages, the ship is dead. It's risky.”

“Riskier than letting red lyrium into Minrathous?” Gatt asked pointedly. Bull and Faydren looked at each other. It was the best plan available.

“Let's go hold up our end of this bargain, then,” she nodded.

“I'll go with you, Boss. Krem can lead the Chargers. Let me fill him in.”

 

The Qunari headed towards his Chargers. Varric and Dorian followed after him, having some sort of debate in whispers. Faydren stayed back next to Gatt and looked at him intently. She was curious.

“How did you meet Bull?”

“Iron Bull and his men attacked my master's ship in Seheron and killed him, as well as his soldiers. Bull set me free.”

“He never told me about that.” The story wasn’t surprising, knowing Bull. She was never comfortable asking him about his past though so it was nice to meet someone who’d known him for so long.

“One of the few things he hasn't shared with you, I gather. ‘Sure, Bull. Share the secret Ben-Hassrath reports, but keep that bit where you saved the elf boy to yourself,’” the words held a hint of annoyance.

“Is Bull going to get in trouble for passing those reports on?” Faydren was immediately concerned.

“The Ben-Hassrath aren't pleased with how forthcoming Bull has been...” Gatt admitted. “But he was one of their best agents. He kept the streets clean in Seheron longer than anyone before him, or after. He fought until it nearly killed him. The Ben-Hassrath trust him enough to accept how he joined the Inquisition, even if they don't like it.”

“Oh. I see,” she shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll go check that they’re ready.”

 

Iron Bull was still speaking animatedly as she approached. Krem stood with his arms crossed, nodding occasionally while the rest of the Chargers listened closely behind him. Faydren had an inexplicable sense of foreboding looking at them. She wasn’t a tactician and she trusted Bull, but splitting up their small force felt like a mistake.

“Just... pay attention, alright?” Bull finished. “The Vints want this red lyrium shipment bad.”

“Yes, I know. Thanks, mother,” Krem joked, but Bull remained serious. Did he feel it too?

“Qunari don't have mothers, remember?”

“We'll be fine, Chief.”

“Alright, Chargers. Horns up!” The Qunari bellowed.

“Horns up!” The Chargers shouted back.

“Hit 'em hard and hit 'em fast! When this is over, drinks are on me!”

“You got it, Chief! Chargers, double time! Let's move!” The lieutenant led his men off toward their assignment.

 

Rain continued to fall as they trudged towards their own goal in relative silence. Dorian and Varric had stopped talking when she approached - the two gossipmongers had probably found out something she’d regret later. Bull and Gatt had a short discussion when they started out but they’d gone silent as well. Faydren could feel the tension growing.

“You must wish you were back in Tevinter, mage,” the elf spoke from her right, eyes straight forward. “No soldiers to guard you here. No slaves to wait on you.”

“It's the lack of fashion that really strikes fear into my heart,” Dorian quipped from her left. She’d tactfully placed herself between the two of them when they started walking. Her decision was paying off.

“You know nothing of fear...” Gatt growled, coming to a stop and turning to glare at the Tevinter.

“And do you intend to teach me?” There was a challenge in the words as Dorian met his gaze without flinching.

Faydren remained between them, eyes moving from one to the other as her static began to increase. Now was not the time for this. Bull and Varric were further ahead and hadn’t noticed the group stop. The staring contest lasted a few more moments before Gatt backed down.

“No. You serve the Inquisition, and the Ben-Hassrath wish an alliance. For now, that is enough.”

The response wasn’t exactly reassuring, but there was little time to worry about that. Bull and Varric had crouched down and were waving them forward. They’d reached their destination. Peering through the sparse foliage, she spotted them - Venatori. And a rather sizable group at that.

The cultists were camped near a cliff overlooking the inlet. There was at least one wielding a staff, but the rest consisted of mostly warriors and archers. Everyone already knew the plan, so Faydren only waited for the reassuring hum of Dorian’s barrier spell before summoning lightning into the mass of soldiers. The ones at the epicenter were thrown to the ground, screaming as electricity surged along their metal armor.

Iron Bull charged forward next, ignoring the arrows glancing off his barrier as he made himself the biggest target and threat for any melee fighter there. Dorian set a few archers ablaze while Varric unleashed a bolt into the neck of the staff-wielder. Gatt glided around with dual blades, taking out enemies that strayed too far from the fray.

Faydren fadestepped next to Bull, spirit blade manifesting in her hand. Her sparring with Helaine and Cullen continued to pay off as she easily blocked incoming blades and countered with powerful attacks. The mage and Qunari had a newfound synergy in battle after she’d become a Knight Enchanter, cutting a path of mayhem through enemy ranks.

The rush she got from being in the middle of the battle was amplified by his chaotic bloodlust. They made for an intimidating sight – a horned giant covered in blood and grinning like mad, flanked by a young woman with glowing violet-ringed eyes who wielded both mage staff and an ethereal golden greatsword. The Venatori kept coming though, urged on by their fanatical belief.

The sheer number of them still made for a difficult encounter. This red lyrium shipment was of great value to have sent so many. The archers had all been defeated, meaning Dorian was focused keeping a barrier up on the melee fighters while he and Varric took shots at provided openings. Hopefully the Chargers were doing as well.

Faydren’s focus broke as a cry rang out behind her, followed by a string of Tevinter curses. Whirling around, she spotted Dorian on the ground holding his right arm – it was coated in ice. Varric fired off a few bolts while he attempted to help the mage to cover, narrowly dodging another ice spell as it froze the stone next to him. The Inquisitor’s eyes darted to his target. Another spellcaster had arrived. She could see flashes as Varric’s shots impacted the barrier.

The man was preparing to cast again and there was no guarantee of a successful dodge this time. Bull and Gatt seemed to have things under control on this end, so Faydren fadestepped right before the spell was released. She appeared in front of Varric just in time for a blast of ice to impact her barrier, spreading a sheen of frost across it before vanishing.

“Nice catch, Stormcloud.”

Not taking time to respond, the Inquisitor charged straight for the startled Venatori mage. He raised his staff in an attempt to block her blade but was obviously unaccustomed to doing so as it was batted aside easily. If it weren't for the barrier, she would have had him dead to rights. As it was, the barrier cracked and fizzled but managed to hold while the man staggered backwards.

A hood with a silvery mask covered his face, but she could almost taste his sudden surge of fear. However, now he had time to prepare for her second assault. She had hoped the first strike would be enough to shatter the barrier at least. Lightning was a better choice at range, but it likely wasn't enough to break through and he knew it.

This could be tricky. Faydren's fade shield was back up after absorbing some of the energy from his barrier, but it would only take one solid hit. Her eyes darted to the other fighters – looked like they were about done. With any luck, they'd be ready...

Faydren ran straight at the mage again. A massive fist made of ice shot toward her, smashing into the fade shield and momentarily impairing her vision as the two spells exploded into a mist. Not stopping, she barely saw the staff blade in time to sidestep. The blade sliced across her side and she grit her teeth at the pain. It was a shallow cut thanks to the thicker leather armor she'd begun wearing but damn, it stung.

Spinning away from the staff, she brought her spirit blade around in a wide arc. It was a glancing blow as he moved away, but the connection was strong enough that she saw the barrier fall. Dropping her staff, she continued the spin and lunged forward to grab his mask. The metal was so cold that it burnt her fingers to touch, but she held long enough to unleash a blinding flash of light in his eyes.

He cried out in pain and surprise but still managed to grab the front of her jacket, shoving her backwards as he swept her feet out from under her. Faydren landed hard on her back, the stones all over the ground making their presence known. The mage tore off the mask to rub at his watery eyes vigorously before blinking at her with an angry glare. He raised his staff but she just smirked at him. That had been enough time.

“Bull!”

“Got it, Boss!”

The hulking Qunari charged in, swinging the flat side of his greataxe into the Venatori's chest and launching him off the side of the cliff. Panicked shrieking lasted for a couple seconds before silence. Bull practically lifted her to her feet with one hand, and she brushed herself off – or tried to anyway. Dorian and Varric approached with the Tevinter still holding his right arm close against him. It was no longer frozen since Dorian had probably thawed it out with his fire magic, but the pain clearly still remained.

“Everyone still mostly in once piece?” Faydren asked.

“It'll probably be a few hours before my arm is completely back to normal, but it should suffice for now,” Dorian sounded more annoyed than anything.

“Not bad,” Gatt approached, wiping off his blades. “You choose your allies well, Hissrad. But then, you always did.”

“We're clear, Gatt,” Bull didn't acknowledge the compliment, but he looked pleased.

“Right. Signaling the dreadnought.”

“Chargers already sent theirs up. See 'em down there?” Pride filled the mercenary captain's voice.

“I knew you gave them the easier job,” Gatt commented. Bull just smirked.

“There's the dreadnought. That brings back memories,” the Qunari almost seemed like a little boy as he caught sight of it.

Faydren could see why. The massive ship sailing into view was like nothing she'd ever seen. It was dark and intimidating with vicious-looking horns sticking out from the bow. As it approached, great spheres of fire launched from the deck and landed with an explosion on the Venatori's merchant boat. The flaming wreckage quickly sunk.

“Nice one!” Bull exclaimed before movement caught his eye on the shore and his face fell. “Crap.”

A large Venatori contingent moved along the beach towards the Chargers' position. There were even more cultists than what had been stationed on the cliff, plus at least three spellbinders. They must have been expecting trouble and waited to make their move until the dreadnought showed itself.

“The Chargers can't stand against that kind of force,” Faydren pointed out nervously, checking for a quick way down the cliff – there was none.

“No, they can't...” The mercenary said quietly.

“Your men need to hold that position, Bull,” Gatt broke in, pointing emphatically.

“They do that, they're dead,” Bull growled.

“And if they don't, the Venatori retake it and the dreadnought is dead. You'd be throwing away an alliance between the Inquisition and the Qunari! You'd be declaring yourself Tal-Vashoth!”

Bull grimaced at the words, but refused to make a decision. Faydren didn't know what to do. It should be Bull's choice, but could she really let him? This was forcing him to choose between people he cared about or his entire way of life! The guilt would be terrible. Or maybe she was being selfish. The Chargers were her friends too – her people. She didn't want them to die...

“With all you've given the Inquisition, half the Ben-Hassrath think you've betrayed us already!” The elf continued. “I stood up for you, Hissrad! I told them you would _never_ become Tal-Vashoth!”

“They're my men,” pain filled Bull's voice.

“I know. But you need to do what's right, Hissrad... for this alliance, and for the Qun.”

That did it.

“Right now the Chargers work for the Inquisition. That makes them as much my men as they are Bull's,” Faydren cut in, fuming. Her eyes glinted angrily. “Alliance or no, I _will not_ sacrifice them. Call the retreat.”

“Don't!” Gatt argued, but the mercenary captain didn’t need to be told twice. He sounded the horn for retreat and the Chargers responded, moving out quickly.

“They're falling back,” Bull couldn't hide his relief.

“All these years, Hissrad, and you throw away all that you are. For what?” Gatt asked accusingly, moving in close as the big Qunari remained silent. “For this? For _them_?”

Faydren took one step and punched the elf across the jaw, laying him out flat. Bull looked at her in shock, but she was too focused to notice his reaction. Her rage was so obvious that Dorian put a cautionary hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off, electricity crackling around her fist as she glared down at Gatt.

“Don’t talk about them like they’re _nothing_ ,” the Inquisitor’s voice was cold and dangerous. “And his name is Iron Bull.”

“I suppose it is,” Gatt rubbed his jaw and got slowly to his feet, scowling and giving her a wide berth before heading down the path.

She didn’t bother turning to watch him go. Instead, her eyes focused on the Venatori mages preparing their spells. The dreadnought stood out starkly against the water, an easy target. Her shoulders sagged, the anger simply draining out of her. She was about to witness the immediate consequences of her actions.

“No way they'll get out of range,” Bull said quietly. “Won't be long now.”

“Bull, when the dreadnought sinks...” Faydren sounded apologetic

“Sinks?” He interrupted. “Qunari dreadnoughts don't sink.”

The water lit up as spells lanced out from the shoreline. One hit the dreadnought. Then another. Fire rained down on the ship until finally it erupted in a great conflagration. The sound of the explosion echoed across the Storm Coast.

Faydren’s mouth fell open, eyes wide in awestruck horror. A gust of wind rushed past them moments later, laced with the smell of Gaatlock and burning. The Inquisitor was trembling. There wouldn’t be any survivors.

She couldn’t force herself to look at Bull.

“Come on. Let's get back to my boys,” he sighed and she heard his heavy footfalls move away.

Dorian and Varric had remained unusually quiet during most of this mission, but now they both stepped up next to her. The Tevinter’s hand on her shoulder was one of comfort this time. Faydren didn’t shrug it away.

“Are you alright?” Dorian spoke softly. She shook her head.

“You did the right thing, Stormcloud,” Varric gave her a friendly nudge. “Let’s get out of here.”

***

The day after they returned to Skyhold, Gatt arrived with an official message from the Qunari. Even though the decision was obvious, they insisted on protocol. He approached Bull and Faydren, making sure to stay outside her reach. She eyed him coldly.

“Inquisitor, it is my duty to inform you that there will be no alliance between our peoples. Nor will you be receiving any more Ben-Hassrath reports from your Tal-Vashoth ally,” he put special emphasis on the last part.

“You under orders to kill me, Gatt?” Bull's tone practically dared him to try and Faydren bristled with energy at the suggestion.

“No. The Ben-Hassrath have already lost one good man. They'd rather not lose two,” Gatt gave a curt nod before swiftly taking his leave.

“So much for that,” the Qunari grunted.

“I'm proud of you, Bull,” the Inquisitor offered quietly.

“Thanks, Boss,” he chuckled but there was no heart behind it. Krem approached and Bull turned his attention. “You're late.”

“Sorry, Chief. Still sore from fighting off all those Vints,” he rolled his shoulders. “Good to see you, Inquisitor.”

“That fight against the Venatori was a bit dicey,” she tried to play it off lightly. None of them had told the Chargers the choice they'd had to make.

“We knew that you and the Chief had our back, Your Worship,” Krem grinned. “Chief's even breaking open a cask of Chasind Sack Mead for the Chargers tonight.”

“Damn it, Krem, that's the kind of thing you _don't_ have to mention to the Inquisitor.”

“Sorry, Chief...”

Faydren moved away as the two began sparring with Bull tossing out critiques now and then. She had no particular destination in mind, but ended up at her usual spot on the gatehouse tower. It had been a while since she’d spent any time up here. As she gazed over the snowy mountain landscape, her mind wandered to a conversation she’d had with Krem the previous night. One comment in particular stuck with her… _Shame the alliance with the Chief's people didn't work out. He hasn't said anything, but he's feeling it._

Iron Bull was a Tal-Vashoth now. He hated Tal-Vashoth. She should have let him make the decision. It was his life after all. Instead she was selfish and made the choice herself because she couldn’t bear the thought of him choosing the other option. Even the advisers were unsure if she made the right decision.

The boisterous Qunari hadn’t been the same since they got back and Faydren barely talked to him at all. The meeting with Gatt was the extent of their interaction. What if he resented her now? As a professional, he wouldn’t leave so long as the contract remained but… what if he didn’t want to be here anymore?

The Inquisitor sighed heavily. She sat down, arms crossed and back against the cool stone. It felt nice on her sore muscles and the bruises from that rocky landing. This whole being in charge thing was never what she wanted. They had made a mistake appointing her. Iron Bull surely saw that now. It was only a matter of time before everyone else realized too.


End file.
